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Damn.

His words lingered between us, thick and charged, and I had to force myself to breathe, my pulse pounding in my ears. He leaned closer, his gaze dark and intent, and for a moment all I could think about was the heat rolling off his body and how much I wanted to close the gap entirely.

“Dalton,” I murmured, finding my voice, “I—” my eyes caught on something I hadn’t noticed when I first walked out, too distracted by his dickprint in those jeans. “Please don’t tell me you went and bought a new car because of that comment I made about you not fitting in yours.” I pushed him aside to get a better look at the pale blue restored Bronco. “I mean, it’s gorgeous, but that’s insane to buy a new vehicle because of me.”

A smirk flickered across his lips, and he raised his hand, brushing a stray hair from my face, not bothering to take his attention off me. “I didn’t get a new one. I just have an old one I thought you might like to see.”

TWENTY-FOUR

DALTON

“I’LL GIVE YOU MY PROTEIN STYLE.” —THAT’S WHAT HE SAID.

Just like that, she’d managed to crack open something in me without even trying, and she didn’t seem to have any idea that she made me feel…I didn’t exactly know what it was I felt.

I studied her as if there would be a test. Like I’d need to answer questions on how her button nose wrinkled in confusion or how she squinted her chocolate eyes like what she was looking at might not be real, or maybe I’d be asked to describe the exact way the thin line of her mouth blossomed into a smile wide enough the corners of her mouth had hurt.

She whipped her head around, her hair flying wildly behind her, “Is this really yours?” The excitement in her voice mended hurts I hadn’t realized I had.

I nodded. “Yeah, Betty’s mine. ’67 Ford Bronco.” The words came out more gruff than intended, my throat thick with emotion at seeing her reaction.

Emma had hated my Bronco.

She thought it rode too rough and complained it didn’t scream “I’m wealthy” when she was in it. That was exactly why I liked it. That and the fact that Betty was the first thing I’d ever bought for myself. Worked coaching youth hockey and private lessons for two whole summers so I could buy her.

I didn’t know why I’d given in when Emma demanded I start parking it at my mom’s. Which was where it’d been until today, when I finally brought her back home with me after our weekly meal. As much as I told myself I’d done it because I wanted Betty back, a part of me wanted to show Ari—I just hadn’t realized that opportunity would present itself so soon.

My chest warmed when Ari walked over, running her hands over the paint with reverence.

“So, how is it this thing’s so nice if it’s older than I am?” she asked.

“She didn’t look like this when I bought her. Every penny I made working went into fixing her up. Rebuilt the engine, fixed a million and one things that were broken, but it was a labor of love.” I smiled, reminiscing on my time under the hood. “My mom worked two jobs and put herself through school. I didn’t want her to feel like she had to get me a car, too, and with hockey, I had a lot of places I needed to be, and I didn’t want to burden her schedule with driving me everywhere. Enter Betty.”

Ari’s brows furrowed. “Where was your dad?”

There was a pang in my chest, the same one I got every time I spoke about it. “Um, he wasn’t around until later.” I flashed her a smile, attempting to keep my tone light.

He was her employer, after all, and eventually, she’d meet him. I didn’t want her to get the wrong impression about my dad. Vincent was a good guy…he just had a hard exterior shell.

Ari studied me for a beat before nodding, like she somehow knew the subject was delicate and chose not to dig deeper for my sake. “Why don’t you drive this beauty every day? It’s seriously gorgeous.”

I should have known that question was coming, but I’d forgotten what it was like to have someone attempt to get to know you.

She didn’t see my shrug, too busy making her way around the SUV. “Eh. The other one gets better gas mileage,” I said lightly, digging out the single key hanging from the diamond-shaped keychain that read “Betty.” My mom had given it to me when I got the car.

It wasn’t a total lie, but it was definitely not the full truth. Telling her why I’d felt compelled to keep it parked, like some relic of my teenage dreams, was more than I was ready to share. What would she say if I told her I didn’t drive the Bronco because my father hated it? That I drove the Audi, hoping he’d take note of how I listened to him and it would make us closer?

That I hoped it would help us come to have an actual father-son relationship…

Fuck. It was even more pathetic when I added that the entire time I’d rebuilt the Bronco, I’d been thinking about what it might be like to do it with my dad.

“I think we take her all the time now,” she said, straightening her shoulders, chin held high like she was ready for a fight. “You’ve got enough money to cover gas. Hell, I’ll help pay for gas.” She hung onto the car like she was prepared to latch on and refused to move until I agreed. Her voice softened. “I just think it’s a shame not to enjoy something you put so much of yourself into. Seems like she deserves better…like you deserve better.”

My chest tightened at the sight of her pressed up against something that meant so much to me. Tanned legs, wild hair, and a smile I never wanted to see dim. And that final whispered comment about what I deserve hit me right in the heart.

“Yeah, Sunshine. We can take the Bronco.”

The squeal she let out was music to my ears.