Page 88 of Feast

“What’s to talk about?” She tugged on her boots, ignoring the laces, and jerked on her coat. “You don’t want to date me, and I can’t keep fucking you without catching feelings. Time to stop.”

He wished she’d stop sayingfuckingin that dead voice. It made him want to throw up.

“It’s not just sex,” he protested, watching her button her coat, his panic rising with each one. “I do like you, Maddie.”

“I know, Spence.” She fastened the last button. “Could you hand me my bag?”

He didn’t want to, didn’t want her to go. But short of barring the door, he couldn’t think of a way to keep her from leaving. So he picked it up and handed it over, his gut twisting when she took it, careful not to touch him.

“I’m still going to dinner on Sunday,” she informed him, a hint of her usual fire in the words. “But don’t worry. I’ll keep my mouth shut.”

The verbal blow made him wince. “Do you…” he began and had to clear his throat to get the rest of the words out. “Do you want me to not go?”

“Of course not,” she said, her eyes registering a hint of surprise. “It’s your mom’s birthday, Spence. I’d never ask you not to see her.”

Knowing he deserved that, he watched her turn away and reach for the door. “I don’t want you to go, Maddie.”

She didn’t turn around. “I know,” she said, and for a moment her voice was raw, anguished. “But I don’t want to stay.”

And then she was gone, and Spence was left with nothing but a belly full of regret and rapidly cooling Thai food.

14

In an effort to put the disaster that was his personal life out of his mind, Spence kept busy. He finished a reconditioning job on a Heritage Softail, started rebuilding a ’72 Shovelhead, and took more bookings for routine maintenance than he had time to do. He put in extra hours, working until he was too exhausted to move, then crawled into bed. He slept fitfully, woke up feeling worse than when he’d gone to sleep, then dragged himself out of bed to do it all over again.

On Saturday, he put aside his own work and took Esme on a secret errand.

“Thanks for doing this, Spence.”

“No problem,” he assured Esme, looking out the back window of his truck as he carefully guided the trailer into the shop. The motorcycle strapped in the back was in rough shape, but he’d take care of that. “I’ll get it unloaded and start on it after I get back from my mom’s tomorrow.”

“There’s no rush, our anniversary isn’t until May,” Esme reminded him and hopped out of the truck to beam at the bike. “Tuck’s going to love this.”

Spence got out and went to work on the straps keeping the bike secured. “You decide on a paint color yet?”

Esme huddled into her coat as she watched him work. “I was going to go with black.”

He guided the bike out of the trailer. “It’s a classic for a reason.”

“But then I think that’s boring and too common, so I should pick something brighter.”

“Also an option.”

She huffed, her breath forming a little cloud in the cold air. “Spence, that’s not helpful.”

“Not my bike,” he reminded her and set the kickstand. “Not my choice.”

“You can have an opinion, can’t you?” she asked, exasperated.

If he hadn’t been so exhausted and miserable he would’ve smiled. Annoyed-and-Exasperated Esme was his favorite. Or had been, until he’d seen Naked-and-Coming Esme. “Can, and do.”

Esme waited a beat, then raised her eyebrows. “Well?”

He took his time, making sure the bike was secure, shutting the tailgate on the trailer. When he gathered up the straps and started coiling them, she broke. “Dammit Spence, you know I hate it when you do this.”

“I’m thinking,” he protested, and finished one strap while she ground her teeth. When he picked up the second strap he said, “If it were me, I’d go with black.”

“It took you five minutes to come up with ‘go with black’?”

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