Page 153 of Ice Mechanic

“Dressed like that?” I sniff.

Chance spreads his bare arms wide, looking down at his body. “It would spice things up, don’t you think?”

I laugh through the tears.

He smiles and studies me with a soft, warm look. “I don’t ever think I’ve made a girl cry by calling her special before.”

“Yeah, well, there’s a first time for everything.” I reach for another tissue. “I don’t know what came over me, I just…” My words falter and, sensing I need encouragement, Chance comes over and squeezes my hand.

“I think… for a long time, I haven’t felt very special at all.” Emotions well in my chest again. “I was the invisible presence in people’s lives. No one really saw me.”

Chance remains silent, taking in everything I say.

“Like June… she just up and left without even telling me. And then dad got sick and he couldn’t even remember my name…” I sob and the hand squeeze turns into a back rub of encouragement. “Wow, this is a trauma dump. I’m sorry.”

“No, I want to hear it. I want to know what hurts so I can make it better. And if I can’t, I want to make it feel lighter.” Chance swipes his thumb over my cheek, chasing away a tear. “Don’t cry, baby. It breaks my heart.”

My lashes quake, burdened by the tears. The tip of my nose burns.

I can’t describe what I’m feeling, but there’s a tide in my chest. A wave crashing into me. It feels… monumental.

“Are you real?” I look up at Chance in hushed wonder. “Are you really real?”

“If I’m a figment of your imagination, then you need a psychiatrist. And an exorcist.”

I chuckle, glad that he’s joking around. I’m so off-kilter that nervous laughter is the best I can do right now.

Chance presses a kiss to my forehead and then cages me against the bathroom sink, setting both hands on either side of me. “I’m not perfect, if that’s what you’re asking, but I also,” he brushes a lock of my hair aside, “have never been more ready to choose a woman the way I want to choose you.”

His sweet words are a balm and the tears stop flowing at last.

“You’re mine, April Brooks. I’m not saying that to be possessive. You’re my responsibility, you’re my partner. You’re my ‘I’ll get up in the middle of the night and come right over if you call’. You’re my ‘I’ll hand over wrenches and spanners and whatever tool you ask for even though I don’t know anything about cars’. You’re it for me.”

I wrap my arms around his neck. “You know… a spanner is just another name for a wrench.”

“Really? Wow.”

I laugh again, louder than I have all night. “I can’t believe you didn’t know that.”

“That’s whyyou’rethe mechanic, and I’ll just hand you the tools,” he responds. “Once I figure out what the tools actually are, of course.”

My laughter fades as I stare into Chance’s eyes. The heat of his bare arms on either side of me chases away the cold. His face is so close that I can see the outline of each of his impossibly thick eyelashes.

Heart laid bare and my emotions at an all-time high, I step into him. Chance McLanely might not be a figment of my imagination, but his chiseled features are a work of art so captivating, it’s almost fantasy.

Fingers trembling, I trail a line over his forehead.

Chance sucks in a sharp breath.

I move down the slope of his nose.

His eyes flutter closed and he sighs happily.

I brush across one cheek and then the other.

Trace the angles of his sharp, defined jaw.

Finally, my exploration arrives at his mouth. Soft. Firm.

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