Come What May - L.K. Farlow Page 0,19
is, Drake decided to try and use Kasey to make her jealous. It was a whole thing.”
“Uh huh,” is all I can say while keeping a straight face. It’s times like these that really highlight the age gap between us. She’s still elbow-deep in drama, and I’m… not.
“What?” She shrugs one delicate shoulder. “Those two were messy until they made it official.”
Kasey returns with our drinks and takes our food order—wings for me, a burger for Seraphine. Before I can fully weigh the consequences of my words, I turn to Seraphine and blurt, “You’re a little messy right now, too.”
I brace for impact, expecting her to fly off the handle. Instead, I’m met with a single arched brow and soft but lethal words. “Really? You think so?”
Like every man before who’s made a shitty comment without thought, I give her the age-old excuse of, “That came out wrong.”
Which makes me feel like a jackass, especially when she calmly leans back into her seat and says, “I’m sure it did.”
She stares me down as I struggle to find the right words. After a few painfully long seconds tick by, she gets tired of waiting. “Well, go ahead, try again.”
Dios mio, this woman. She wants to play hardball, so we will—even if it hurts. “No, you know what? I did mean it.”
Her brown eyes widen in disbelief.
“Could I have said it nicer? Definitely, but my poor delivery doesn’t change the facts. You’re letting your grief rule you.” She wants to deny it, to tell me I’m wrong. I can see it in her eyes, but I press ahead. “It ends today, mariposita.”
I can tell she’s gearing up to tell me off, but Kasey arrives with our food before she can. Thank God; maybe after she eats, she’ll be more receptive to my plan.
Our heated conversation pauses as we dig into our meals. The fragile silent truce stays in place until the bill is settled and we’re in my truck. But as soon as I shift into gear, all bets are off, and Seraphine’s ready for war.
“Just who are you to tell me how to run my life?”
“Someone needs to. You’re running it into the ground.”
She glares. “Be that as it may, it’s my life. I can do whatever I want with it.”
My shoulders shake with silent laughter.
“What?” she snarls.
“You sound like a child. Just because you can do something doesn’t mean you should.” I turn onto the road her dad’s shop is on and gun it. Seraphine squeals as I slam on the brakes, bringing us to a jarring stop.
“What the fuck?” she hisses.
“No one else was on the road,” I say.
“There’s a speed limit for a reason, jackass.”
“But my truck can go fast, so...” I’m waiting for her to get my point, and judging from the way she huffs and throws herself back into the seat, she got it—loud and clear.
“Whatever. Why are we here?” The tremble in her voice doesn’t escape my notice. I know exactly how hard this is for her—I’ve been here before and wouldn’t wish this on anyone. Regardless, it has to be done.
“Figured we could ride out and check on everything, maybe make some decisions regarding your dad’s shop.”
“Do we have to?” She fidgets in her seat, looking every bit as pained as I feel.
I pull to a stop in front of the garage bays. “We’re already here; might as well.” The steadiness of my voice covers the wretchedness working its way through me. While I want to help her, and know she needs to do this, causing her even an iota of pain was not on my to-do list.
She unbuckles and throws open her door. “Fine.”
I follow behind her, waiting quietly while she fishes the key out of her purse. I knew coming here was going to be hard, but it may be more so than I anticipated. This shop is her dad’s life’s work. She practically grew up here. Seraphine was her dad’s pride and joy, but these cars, this business, it was his passion. One I know he passed onto her.
Even if she doesn’t openly show it, this big metal building means as much to her as it did to him.
Once inside, Seraphine hesitates. I don’t rush her. If she needs to stand in the pitch-black dark and gather herself, then that’s what we’ll do.
I can vividly recall how hard it was to sift through Imani’s things—especially her art studio. It was gut-wrenching to sell the space, to sell her pieces; it felt