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“That’s really sweet.”
I smile again, remembering my grandmother as the first person to believe in my gift.
“It was, and so right before her wedding, I had decided to quit college, hating the classes and wanting to do photography full time. My parents were pissed and cussed me out for wasting their money, but my grandmother saw something in me and she asked if I could photograph her wedding. And the rest is history.”
Luca’s eyes soften as I notice his appearance for the first time since I walked into the room. His dark hair is a mess, the curls falling lightly in front of his dark-brown eyes and before I can stop myself, I take in the gray sweatpants. For years, I never understood women’s obsession with men wearing gray sweatpants, yet at this moment, seeing them hang low on his hips and leaving very little to the imagination, I get it. I completely understand. It’s not until I take in the tattoos across his chest and down his arms that I hear his throat clear and I blush scarlet, my eyes flicking up to meet his.
“Enjoying the view?” he teases, winking as he goes back to cooking us breakfast.
“Sorry,” I mutter, feeling like a complete fool and wondering how quickly I can make my escape before I have to relive this moment.
“No apology needed. I got the tattoos for a couple reasons, so people staring is never an issue for me.” He smirks, a glint of mischief in his eyes and I know he knows I wasn’t ogling just the tattoos.
“What other reason besides getting stared at would you get tattoos?” I tease, curious as to why he phrased it that way.
“To piss off my parents,” his laugh fills the space and I cock my head to the side, wondering why that would be an incentive. “They’re peculiar about appearances, so having these is my way of rebelling against their ideals…that and living in a place like this.” His wink tells me know than his words do, and I know there's more there but I leave it alone for now.
“So what do you do?” I ask, realizing I know nothing about this man, except that he loves pissing off his parents, and yet I feel this odd sense of connection between us.
He stills, his shoulders bunching as he braces himself for whatever he’s about to say.
“I work for my best friend’s security firm and as a mechanic,” he murmurs, almost too quiet for me to hear.
I tilt my head to the side, peering at him and wondering if that profession fits him and the longer I look at him, the more I think it’s perfect.
“That sounds interesting. What made you go into the mechanic part?”
He turns, those brown eyes searing into me as if wondering what my ulterior motive is for wanting to know.
“What?” I ask before he gets the chance to say anything.
“I’m just not used to people outside my friend group asking about my life,” he admits, that sadness I saw earlier returning in full force. “But I spent all my childhood being chauffeured around in Bentleys and Porsches, and I grew to hate it. All I wanted growing up was a bike. To me, a bike meant freedom, riding alone in the wilderness without a care in the world.”
“Sounds like heaven,” I say to myself, picturing exactly what he’s saying and wanting nothing more than to do exactly that.
Lucas’s head quirks to the side, his eyes studying me as if I’m making fun of him.
“So did you get your bike?” I ask, hoping to God he says yes because I can totally see him straddling a bike and I want nothing more than to see that in person.
“I did. Right after I left for college, I bought one with some money I had stashed away, and much to my parents’ dismay, I loved it. I loved it so much that I spent all of my time studying how to make it better, how to fix it, and how to customize it.”
“Hence why you now work as a mechanic?” I ask, his smile my answer. “I’m guessing you mostly fix bikes then?”
He nods, plating the food and setting it down in front of me. The smell of bacon hits my nose and my stomach growls audibly, both of us laughing.
“Dig in,” he says before taking a big bite and I follow suit.
We stay silent for the duration of the meal, occasionally looking up from our plates and catching each other’s eye, but other than that, we stay silent. After both the plates are clear and Lucas takes them and places them in the sink, I sigh, knowing that I need to bite the bullet and head next door.
“Well, I guess I better get going. I really do appreciate your help last night and this morning, but I think I need to man up and head over and get my stuff.”
“Where are you going to go?” he asks.
A simple question and one I don’t have the answer to yet, so I shrug.
“You don’t know?” he questions, his brow furrowing as he continues to look at me as if I have three heads.
“Not really. All I know is I can’t stay there. So once I pack up my things, I’ll find a hotel room for the night and will probably end up calling my parents.”
