Page 102 of Wicked & Wildflower

“Am I allowed to call myself a fucking cool kid?”

Everett cackles. “Not in front of your mother.”

I’m fighting back tears, trying to calm my pounding heart when I turn the corner and enter the kitchen. “What can’t you do in front of your mother?” I ask, keeping my voice steady.

Lou’s eyes go wide, spotting me first. Everett turns, and there’s a smile on his face when he takes me in. I can’t help but return it, closing in on the two of them. I kiss my daughter on the forehead, and when I step away, I find myself being pulled into a pair of strong arms.

“Morning, mama.” He smiles down at me, kissing me lightly on the lips.

“Are you the reason I wasn’t woken at the crack of dawn by my child today?” I ask.

Everett winks. “I heard Lou had a rough night, so I thought I’d stop by and make you guys breakfast.”

“He slipped a note under my door asking me not to wake you up and to come downstairs and help him,” Lou adds. “We were going to surprise you with breakfast in bed, but you ruined it.”

“Oh,” I gasp dramatically. “I’m so sorry to ruin your surprise.” I wrap my arms around her head as Everett goes back to finishing the pancakes. My heart feels like it’s about to explode out of my chest, and I allow myself to dream of this moment being the norm. For the first time, I let myself see it: going to sleep with Everett at night, waking up with the two of themevery morning, watching my daughter love and trust a man who protects and loves her right back.

I want that reality so badly, it hurts, but the pessimist in me tells me it’s far too good to be true.

33

Wildflower

Start Running, Wildflower

The bell on thered door chimes as I enter the lobby of Ramos Automotive. Sophie, one of Everett’s mechanics, greets me from the front counter. “Hi, Dahlia.” She smiles, green eyes crinkling in the corners.

“Hey.” I wave. “I’m meeting Everett for lunch today. Is he in his office?”

I begin to step toward the backend of the building where his office is located when she stops me. “No, he’s actually still outside working on the reno for the ‘60 T-Bird.” She runs a tan fingertip through the end of her dark ponytail. “He and Carlos both get so carried away with that thing. Can you believe someone just dumped it here?” she asks exasperatedly.

I don’t know what a 60 Birdie or whatever the fuck she just said even is, so it’s hard for me to relate to the shock in her tone, but I respond, “No, that’s crazy.”

She smiles at me like she can tell I’m full of shit, but she holds out her hands. “Here, hand me your boxes, and I’ll set them in his office for you.” Nodding toward the glass door behind her, she adds, “You can go grab him from the bay.”

“You sure?” I ask.

“Yeah.” She laughs. “You might be the only person capable of pulling him away from that car.”

Everett’s staff have gotten to know me over the last few months, since I come down here for lunch about once a week. He spends a lot of time in the office above Heathen’s as well, since we have regular meetings there. I like coming down here when I want to get off the boardwalk, though.

I thank Sophie as I hand her the paper bag filled with sandwiches I picked up from Everett’s favorite spot downtown, and then I enter the deck through the glass door behind the counter. A few of his other workers greet me when I pass by. There are three cars in the garage currently, all seeming to be at different stages of repair or maintenance.

Everett doesn’t seem to notice my approach, but I see him on the far end of the deck, bent over the hood of an old, classic-looking, teal blue car. The Birdie, I assume. As I get closer, I notice his face is pinched in concentration, staring down into the hood. He’s got an enticing gleam of sweat on his brow and neck. His arms are bare, straining outside the black cut-off t-shirt he’s wearing as he braces against the side of the vehicle. His full-sleeve tattoos ripple beneath his weight, and I find myself clamping down on my lip to bite back a literal swoon.

I’m starting to wonder if Sophie sent me back here so I could get a look at this man in action, and if that’s the case, I’m going to need to send her a thank you card.

As I reach the car, I lean against the driver side door. I’m fairly certain he didn’t notice me walking up, can’t see me from behind the hood. “‘Scuse me. Sir?” Hearing a smack and then agroan, I continue, “I’m looking for a mechanic. I’m in need of a full-service tune-up. You know, pipes oiled and rack lubed.” Everett’s head pops around the lifted hood, eyes wide. “Nuts. Bolts. Whatever.” His brows are in his hairline as he stares after me. “There’s something there. You get what I mean,” I finish, fighting a smile.

The entire deck falls silent before echoing laughter erupts throughout the garage, followed by claps and whistles. Everett’s look of shock slowly morphs into something resembling endearment, and finally, a smirk flutters across his lips.

“I’m not sure I do, ma’am.” He rounds the front of the car, closing the distance between us. “You might have to show me.”

“You askin’ for a look under my hood?”

“Always, Wildflower,” he rasps, snaking an arm around my waist and tugging me against him. He appears to be done with my little ruse, because his mouth falls on mine, hot, soft, and needful, like he hasn’t kissed me in years.

I love playing this way with him. I used to be like this all the time, pushing boundaries and not caring who heard or stared or judged. Everett makes me feel that free again, but part of me wonders if he’s attracted to this version of me—the one with a sharp tongue and quick impulse, the one who’s experimental in the bedroom and likes to banter when it’s just the two of us—and if he could truly fall for all of me.

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