Page 65 of Riding the Curve

About halfway through the song, I can feel a heavy presence looming behind me. Setting my brush down gently in the tray, I turn to find Emerson leaning against the doorway. He points to his ears, and I take out my earbuds and slip them back into my pocket.

“We can’t avoid conversation forever,” he says softly.

“I know.” I blow out a breath and lift myself up on the counter. Running my hands over my face, I speak through my palms. “I just don’t know how to do this, or even where to start.”

Em shifts from the wall and stands in front of me with his hand outstretched between us. “Hi, my name’s Emerson.”

His lips curve upward as I slide my palm into his. “Henley. It’s nice to meet you.”

Leaning up against the counter, he takes off his hat, running his fingers through his damp hair before placing it back on. “See, now that wasn’t so hard.”

“So, what do you do for a living?” I ask.

“I race sports cars, Porsches specifically, for IMSA.”

“Is it like NASCAR or F1?” I joke, inwardly giggling at his scrunched forehead. He knows full well I know all of this, but since he started to play this game, I’m going to stay in character. “And what’s IMSA?”

“NASCAR and Formula 1 involve racing cars, yes. But what I do is a little bit different from both.” He laughs, nipping the side of my thigh with his fingers.

Stifling the laughter between my lips, I pretend to act intrigued as he continues to explain. “It stands for International Motor Sports Association. Unlike the other two, we run longer races and have multiple classes of cars competing together on one track at the same time. Our races can range anywhere from one hundred minutes to twenty-four hours.”

I whistle low. “Twenty-four hours, that’s a long time. You must have great stamina.”

Two can play this game, sir.

Emerson’s brow raises, biting the edge of his bottom lip as he shakes his head. “Yeah, I suppose you could say that, Trouble. I’m no stranger to the long haul.” He leans into my space, enough for me to feel his breath brush against my skin. “I’m an expert at taking my time.”

Between the rumble of his low voice and the insinuation that flies freely from his lips, there’s nothing I can do to stop the shiver that ripples through me.

Playing with the brim of his hat, he clears his throat. “And what is it that you do, Henley?”

“I’m a professional chef.”

“Ah, so a cook?” he smirks.

“Chef,” I say, wiping my eye with my middle finger as he chuckles lightly. “Anything you can imagine, I can create it. The plate is my canvas, and my medium is food.”

“What if I’m imagining grilled cheese?”

“Then I’ll make you a grilled cheese that will blow your mind.”

“Mind-blowing, eh?”

“Yep.” I say, popping the ‘p’ with extra emphasis.

“Hmm, on our next date you’ll have to show off your talents. We can cook dinner together.”

“Who said this was a date?” I hum.

“I did.”

I feign shock by placing my hand over my chest. “It’s very presumptuous to think that there will be another. I mean, we’ve only just met.”

Reaching across, he grips my hand. His smile widens as he lifts it closer to his lips. “As I told you earlier, I’m excellent at the long haul. This race has tested my endurance, but I believe if I stay focused, I may just have a chance at winning.”

I scoff playfully. “Seven years is quite the long haul, for sure.”

“Oh, Trouble, it’s been far longer than that and you know it.” He winks, and my body stills.