CHAPTER FIVE
Kaia
“Kaia.” Hailey burst into the staff room at Grill&Go, panting. “Dragon Cynthia’s breathing fire because we’ve got too many people and not enough servers. Better clock in now.”
I shoved my diary into my denim backpack and stuffed it into my locker. “Cool. I’m here anyway.”
She shot me a thumbs-up. “Amazing. Let’s go.”
Most days I got to Grill&Go half an hour before my shift because of Sharon’s schedule.
She dropped me off before yoga, and I didn’t mind—I used the spare time to write in my diary or read.
I still had ten minutes before clock-in, but I knew better than to leave Hailey alone with the dragon.
Cynthia would complain about being understaffed, but she wouldn’t actually help.
I followed Hailey into the dining hall, where every table but one was full.
She handled the back while I took the four closest to the entrance.
After dropping off food and drinks, more people poured in.
If luck was on my side, tonight’s rush would mean good tips.
After missing extra shifts over the weekend because of Dad, this one mattered even more.
For the next two hours, I darted between tables.
“You’ve got another at table five,” Cynthia said as I carried a tray of dirty plates into the kitchen. “Hurry.”
As if I’d been slacking. Sweat dampened my back under the black T-shirt, but telling her that would get me fired faster than I could spell soda. I dumped the dishes and hurried back.
My steps faltered when I spotted the customer at table five. He’d only been back a week, but his sharp cheekbones, messy brown hair, and sculpted frame were already etched in my brain.
None of the photos I’d seen in sports articles did Asher justice. I approached, praying I didn’t look as nervous as I felt. “Hi. This is a surprise.”
His gaze skimmed over me, scattering tingles across my skin. “Hola, peque. I’m a bit lost.” He pushed the menu toward me. “I don’t know what to choose. Help me out?”
I cocked my head. “Do you have anything in mind?”
“Coffee.” The corners of his mouth twitched. “Preferably good.”
“Espresso?”
Ash rubbed the back of his neck, smirking. “I guess so. Anything that doesn’t taste like muddy water.”
“Something that reminds you of muddy water,” I muttered, pretending to scribble. “Anything else? A slice of mud pie?”
He chuckled, dragging a palm down his face. “Make it two. When do you finish work?”
“Why?” I whispered, wrestling nerves I couldn’t quite hide.
“I’ll take you home.”
Excitement surged through me, only for the thought of Sharon to cut it short—she always picked me up.
“What about your mom?”
“She can’t.”
I had no reason to feel disappointed, but part of me wished he was here for me and not because of Sharon. Irrational, I knew. We weren’t friends—we’d barely spoken since he came back. He wouldn’t show up at the diner just to see me.
I cleared my throat. “I’ve got another couple hours. Didn’t your mom tell you that?”
“I must’ve forgotten.” Asher’s gaze lingered on my face. “But since I’ll be here, I’ll take more than one slice of the famous mud pie. Or a club sandwich. I’m not picky.”
I tried not to grin and failed. As I turned away, I caught Cynthia watching from across the room, and my stomach dropped. Crap. The last thing I needed was her thinking I was wasting time.
A few minutes later, I set down a club sandwich and an espresso.
Asher thanked me, and I slipped back into the rush.
Still, I couldn’t shake the awareness of him at that table.
He scrolled his phone most of the time but ordered another espresso near the end of my shift. I had no idea how he’d manage to sleep.
When he downed the second drink and signaled for the check, anticipation quickened my steps. I couldn’t wait to finish so we could talk without Cynthia’s eyes drilling into me.
Asher reached for his wallet while I scanned my empty tables.
“Take it, peque,” he said.
I grabbed the leather checkbook, thanked him, and turned toward the register. Peeking inside was a mistake.
My pulse spiked. I pivoted back.
Asher arched a brow. “What’s wrong?”
“The amount.” I set the book on the table. “There’s an extra hundred dollars.”
“Ah.” He shrugged. “People leave tips here, right? That’s what I did.”
“That’s not how it works.” My voice came out sharper than I meant. “That’s too much.” He’d given me what I might earn in a whole rush, and while he could afford it, taking it felt wrong.
“Not too much if you’re saving for a car.” He slid out of the booth. “I need to make a call. I’ll wait outside.”
Confused didn’t even cover how I felt. As I cleaned up and clocked out, I debated whether to give the money back. I needed it, but accepting so much for doing so little tied me in knots.
When I stepped into the lot, Asher leaned against his bike, casual and solid in the glow of the lights. My steps slowed. Bikes weren’t new to me—Dad used to have one—but the thought of climbing onto the back of Asher’s made my stomach flutter.
I stopped beside him. “Hi. I’m ready.”
“Cool.” He held out a helmet. My gaze flicked from his hands to the bike.
“Do you like it?” he asked.
“A lot.” I smoothed a hand over the black leather seat. “Is it the same one you race with?”
He shook his head. “The race bike’s more powerful.”
“Guess you’re a menace on the road,” I teased, half serious. Someone addicted to speed probably didn’t bother with limits.
A smirk tugged at his mouth, warming me all over. “Worried about your safety, peque?” He zipped his jacket. “Don’t be. I’ll go slow.”
“I wasn’t worried. I rode with Dad a few times, back when he still raced.”
Ash gave me a half-smile that only made the flutters worse. “Only a few?”
“He was always busy. Mom drove me most places. I like bikes, though. Cars are just more practical for what I need.”
“What do you need?”
His eyes found mine, steady, like he had all the time in the world. He made no move to start the engine, and I didn’t mind. At home, he’d vanish into his room, I into mine, and days could pass without us speaking.
I wasn’t ready to admit—even to myself—how much I liked talking to him. Living with two people who barely noticed me left me starved for company.
“You know what?” Asher asked after the silence stretched too long. “Why don’t we go somewhere before heading home?”
Did he actually want to spend time with me? I told myself not to get excited, but it was too late—my mind had already conjured images of us strolling through the park under yellow streetlights, and warmth bloomed in my chest.
“We could,” I said. “But where?”
Ash exhaled. “Shit. You’ll have to help me out, peque. I don’t know this village well enough yet.”
“Hey!” I punched his bicep—hard and solid. “Stetbourg isn’t a village.”
“Isn’t it? How many people live here?”
I adjusted my backpack straps. “I’ll tell you in the park. That’s where I want to go. It won’t be crowded this late.”
Damn it. That sounded like I wanted him to take me somewhere private. Lucky for me, he didn’t notice—or pretended not to.
Ash put on his helmet, and I strapped on the one he’d given me.
After fastening mine beneath my chin, I watched him swing his leg over the bike. “Okay,” he said. “Sit behind me and wrap your arms around my waist. I won’t go fast, but I’d rather you didn’t fall.”
Crap.
Now I had to bridge the distance between us and touch him. Swallowing the knot of nerves, I climbed on. His muscles tensed when I hugged his waist—probably too tightly. If I didn’t rein in my nerves, this would get awkward fast.
Once I explained the way, Asher started the bike, and we merged into the heavy evening traffic. My body hummed with the vibration of his back pressed to my front, his heat seeping through the layers between us.
He wove through cars with practiced ease, leaving them behind. Barely ten minutes later, we pulled into the park and climbed off his Kawasaki. I wouldn’t have minded riding longer.
“So,” he said as we strolled down an empty path, “why a car instead of a bike? And what’s Stetbourg’s population?”
I tucked my cold hands into my coat pockets. “Well, a car has a trunk.”
“You scare me, peque.” His eyes narrowed. “Whose body are you planning to hide?”
A laugh slipped out. “Yours, if you don’t behave.”
His lips twitched as he nudged leaves aside with his foot. “I’ll behave.”
“?Me lo prometes?” Promise?
He stopped short. “Wow. Your pronunciation’s amazing. How come my mother never mentioned you speak Spanish so well?”
I shrugged. “She doesn’t know.”
Asher stepped closer, slow and deliberate. “But you’ve lived under the same roof for five years.”
Another shrug, and I kept walking. The crunch of leaves underfoot and our breathing filled the quiet.
“Living together doesn’t mean much. I guess part of it’s my fault. It was awkward at first, having her around, and we never did stuff together. I went out to dinner with her and Dad a few times, but that’s about it.”
The wind tousled his hair. A dark strand fell across his forehead, and he brushed it back. “How is any of that your fault?”
“Dad expected me to make an effort, but I missed my mom too much. Eventually your mom just gave up. Can’t really blame her.”
“Not surprising,” he muttered. “Let’s sit?”
He pointed to a bench. The night was cold, but it hadn’t rained in days, and the wood looked dry.
“Sure.” I sat, angling toward him. “And you? What was living with your grandma like?”
Asher rested his arm along the back of the bench, drumming his fingers against the wood. My pulse faltered—we were close now. His cologne lingered in the cool air, and the slightest shift would press our thighs together.
“It was great,” he said. “She’s cool. I went to school, trained, and raced more seriously after I graduated.”