Chapter 4 Ace
FOUR
ACE
The airline agent was talking to someone as I approached, tugging a suitcase that was unfortunately very much not mine—despite it being identical to mine—behind me, a tall guy with blond hair who stood in front of her. From behind, all I could tell was that he had a nice ass.
“Please,” the guy said forcefully. “You have to be able to do something.” His voice sounded familiar, but I couldn’t place it.
She shook her head. “Sir, I’m sorry, there’s nothing else I can do. I have your name and number, and if it turns up, I’ll give you a call.” Her gaze flicked to me. “Now if you don’t mind.”
The guy turned to see who’d interrupted his moment of begging for help, and I smiled, practically a reflex. Then my brain registered that I recognized his face. Holy shit. Stuffy Suit Guy. I nearly laughed out loud, but suppressed it to a soft chuckle just in time.
His face went stony. “You’ve got to be kidding me.”
My smile grew. “Hi there. Good to see you again.”
A beat passed before the Suit Guy glanced down and spotted the bag I was rolling behind me. “My suitcase,” he said abruptly.
I glanced down. “This is yours?”
He closed his eyes briefly and pinched the bridge of his nose. When he reopened his eyes, he nodded. “I certainly hope so.”
I looked at the agent behind the desk before looking back at Suit Guy. He reached for the bag and I stepped back. “How can I be sure this is yours?”
With a sigh, Suit Guy rolled his eyes. “Check the baggage tag.”
I looked down and spotted the white tag the airline had put on the suitcase handle. After a second, I ripped it off and scanned it. “Dallas Miller?”
He let out a relieved exhale and nodded. “That’s me.”
“Well, shit.”
Dallas reached over and took the bag before dipping to the floor and unzipping it just a little.
He plunged his hand into the bag and unearthed a book, pulling it out and looking at the cover triumphantly.
He held it out for me to see. Artifact Preservation Techniques, Vol 11 was on the cover. “See? Mine.”
I shrugged and looked at the agent.
She shrugged back and nodded. “Mr. Miller, it looks like it’s a Valentine’s Day miracle.”
“Valentine’s Day was yesterday,” he pointed out. “And the miracle would’ve been not losing my bag in the first place.”
I nodded to the bag sitting next to the counter. “Does that mean that’s my suitcase?”
The agent peered down and Dallas glanced from her to me. “Are you Ace Williams?”
“That’s me.”
With a smile, the agent nodded. “Perfect. That means I can close this missing luggage case. Glad everything worked out. Now, is there anything else I can do to help you two?”
I shook my head and gave her a bright smile. “Not me.”
Dallas did the same. “Thank you for your assistance.” He didn’t sound grateful in the least.
With that, I took the roller bag from his hand and headed toward my car. It only took a second to notice that Dallas was walking behind me. I glanced over my shoulder. “Are you following me this time?”
He shook his head and rolled his eyes again. “Not at all. I’m parked there.” He pointed to a white car parked next to my beat-up dark green station wagon.
I couldn’t help myself—I let out a loud, sincere laugh. “Well I guess now we’re even.”
Without another word, Dallas popped his trunk, hauled his suitcase into the back and got into his car. I did the same and as I slid into the driver’s seat, I heard the telltale sputter and cough of a car out of gas. I looked over to see Dallas sitting in his driver seat, head on the steering wheel.
Suppressing the urge to smirk, I got out of my car and went around to his driver’s side window. With the knuckles of my first two fingers, I knocked gently on the glass, startling him. He jumped a little and looked up at me. A second later, he closed his eyes briefly before putting his window down.
“Yes?”
“Do you need help?”
“I’m fine, thank you.”
With a soft chuckle, I shook my head. “Don’t be like that. Let me help you. You’re out of gas, right?”
He clenched his jaw, the muscle moving as he took a deep breath in through his nose. “That does seem to be the case.”
“Come on,” I said. “I’ve got an empty gas can in the back of my car. I can drive you to the gas station.”
“I have roadside assistance.”
I laughed again. “Don’t be stubborn. You know roadside assistance will take hours to get here. What are you going to do? Sit in the airport parking lot for the day while you wait for someone to bring you gas? I could get you there and back in twenty minutes, and you’ll be on your way.”
He opened his mouth, probably to protest again, but then closed it and sighed. “Okay. Thank you for the offer. I appreciate it.”
“That might be the nicest thing you’ve ever said to me,” I said, grinning. “Come on. The gas station is just down the street.”
As I drove, Dallas sat quietly in my passenger seat, tension stretching between us, the air thick with silence.
When I couldn’t take it any longer, I glanced over at him. “I’m Ace. They them pronouns, please. Nice to meet you.”
He nodded, lips pressed tightly together, and said nothing.
“Now’s the part where you introduce yourself,” I prodded.
“You already know my name,” he pointed out.
“I don’t know your pronouns. Or what you do for a living, even though I could make some guesses. Or what you like to do in your free time. Or what you’d be doing if you weren’t here with me right now. It’s called small talk, Dallas. Come on. Give me something.”
“He him. Museum curator. If I weren’t here right now, I’d be going home to look through the materials I brought back from the Southern Curator’s Alliance conference.”
“Now we’re getting somewhere,” I said brightly. “A curator? That sounds really interesting.”
“You don’t need to patronize me.”
I scoffed. “Honestly. I’m a history professor. It does sound interesting.”
He glanced at me, his expression a little softer than it had been. “A history professor?”
“Port Grandlin State’s newest.”