Page 135 of Call Me Mrs. Taylor

Beautiful.

I reach into my pocket and pull out a pack of matches, striking one against the box. The flame flickers to life, tiny but powerful.

I take a look around, then flick the match.

The fire whooshes to life, bright and angry, licking up the car in soothing waves. I’d stay and watch the flames dance if I didn’t have to worry about getting caught.

Smiling wide, I snatch up my skateboard and push off into the night.

“What was my pops doing here?”

Damn. Straight like that, right when I walk in the front door.

Ace must have just gotten home. He’s still wearing his hoodie, smelling like sweat and faded cologne.

His face is pinched as he eyes me, his gaze lingering on my backpack, which is near empty now—I got rid ofmyhoodie in a dumpster twenty minutes ago before dropping off my skateboard at home.

He’s so cute, I wanna throw my arms around him and kiss all the sweat off, but I stand perfectly still, frozen like I’m nervous, and say, “What do you mean?”

His eyes narrow. “Why was my father here? As in, for what purpose did he come over?”

I go silent, slowly walking into the kitchen. He’s right on my heels. He’s not gonna be ignored about this.

I grab a bottle of water from the fridge. “How’d you know he was here?”

His nostrils flare, and I know I struck a nerve. “I got a notification when he rang the doorbell. Why are you avoiding the question?”

He’s so sexy when he’s like this.

“Sorry, I’m not avoiding it,” I say slowly. “He…um…he was looking for you, actually.”

I wonder why he’s on ten before there’s anything to suspect. It shouldn’t be a big deal that his father stopped by. They’re close, far as I can tell.

A few moments later, I get my answer.

“I talked to him yesterday and told him I had a game today,” he said. “So, nah, he didn’t come to see me.”

“Oh.” I take a few more swigs, then set my bottle on the counter. “Okay, you want the truth?”

His gaze turns dark. “Don’t piss me off.”

I resist the urge to smile. “He came by to look at my car.”

“Why would—“

“A few weeks ago, after you broke up with me, I went by the dealership,” I say, dropping my voice to a sad tenor. “You had blocked me and you weren’t responding, and I was desperate to figure out if you were okay…” I trail off.

Ace exhales through his nose, slow and sharp. “Why didn’t you mention this before?”

“There was nothing to mention,” I say. “We talked a little, and I told him my car is a piece of crap, and he owns a dealership, obviously. He knows cars. He offered to look at it.” I lower my head, staring up at him through my lashes. “He said he was kinda surprised you hadn’t taken care of it for me.”

Ace’s jaw clenches.

“I don’t think he meant it in a negative way,” I rush out. “Just that he raised you to—no, that’s not…” I stumble over my words carefully. “I don’t know. I don’t—anyway, he came by to look at the car.”

The silence lingers, but I don’t need him to say anything. I can see the frustration all over his face. He wants to trust me, but stuff like this makes it hard. I don’t know if his dad has history, but that seems to be a factor here, too.

This couldn’t have worked more perfectly.

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