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“I’m not skulking.”
“A man stands that close to a wall, and he’s either skulking or taking a leak. What do you want, Walker?”
It’s always odd to see Jace in the middle of the day. At the start or end of working hours, he’s all light ease and happy to take conversations at whatever pace they naturally go. During the day, hopped up on efficiency and the adrenaline of crawling all over his beloved cars, he’s more direct. Down to business.
“Is Lizzie here?” I look around the workshop, noting her absence.
“Nope. Out collecting something.” Jace’s eyes narrow. “Which I assume is a good thing.”
“Hello, Caleb!”
The call comes from the other side of the forecourt. Jace’s father Maxwell, is waving cheerily as he heads into the outer office. I raise a hand but suspect my returning smile is lackluster at best. As soon as he disappears inside, I shoot a look at Jace.
“What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Oh, come on. You think I wouldn’t notice the tension? Lizzie’s angry as a hornet. Given she walked here this morning, it’s not exactly hard to work out who she’s mad at. What did you do?”
I glare at him. Let me think of all the ways I’m not getting into that kind of detail with the man.
“No,” he corrects. “You’re right. I don’t want to know.” He waves his rag toward three seats against the far wall. They are Winter AutoRepair’s solution to a waiting room. “Park it for ten and she’ll be back. Then you can make amends.”
“Actually,” I catch him before he can walk away. “You know how to do that?”
Jace stops with exaggeration, his boots practically squealing on the ground like a cartoon character.
“Pardon me? You’re asking for my advice? About a woman?”
My glare deepens. I feel it between my brows trying to tattoo itself permanently into place.
“Something like that.” I grunt begrudgingly.
To his credit, the ass doesn’t laugh. He doesn’t even smile. The shine of amusement in his eyes is bright and obvious, but the rest of him is mildly respectful. Which keeps me from realigning his teeth, at least.
“For a proper apology, I would need to know the offense.”
“Yeah, not happening.”
Jace shrugs and turns away.
“Then I can’t help, sorry.”
“I kissed her.” The words are like a sneeze. They jump out of me before I can stop them, bringing Jace to another halt.
“She okay with that?” he asks, looking back over his shoulder.
More than okay. That’s the problem. But I know that’s not what he’s asking. Given the way he leans back with hands rising, I realize my glare is probably just a shade too close to deadly.
“I didn’t force her, if that’s what you mean.”
“No, no. Sorry, man. That was a stupid question. I know you wouldn’t.”
When awkward quiet falls, the only interruption is the far-off sound of Max Winter cussing at something.
“So?” I finally prompt. “Your advice?”
Jace tucks his rag into a pocket in his overalls, plants fists on his hips, and looks out over the open street. He narrows his eyes against the morning sunshine and curls his lip in thought.
“Well, in general? It’s a good idea to fall on your sword. The best results come from the most uncomfortable apologies.”
