Page 47 of Iron Heart

“Well. I wanted to tell you thatmypresent to you is waiting for you here at home, in your bedroom. So you’ll just have to come visit!” She pauses, then adds in a hopeful voice, “Maybe this weekend?”

We already discussed this a month ago. I know Mom was upset that I didn’t want to drive up to Columbus and spend my birthday with her. But at the time I was pretty sure I’d just want to keep things low key.

“I can’t, Mom. I’m sorry, this weekend’s out. But soon, I promise. I’ll be in touch and we’ll make plans. Okay?”

My mother grudgingly accepts the consolation prize. “Okay, but I’m not telling you what your present is. You’ll just have to wait until you get here,” she says in a last-ditch attempt to lure me in.

“That’s fine. It will be nice to have something to look forward to. Besides seeing you, of course,” I add hastily.

As nice as all this attention has been, by the end of the work day I’m kind of birthday’ed out. It’s a Friday, so I gather up my bouquet of flowers from my dad and take them home with me. I prop them up in the passenger seat of my car, steadied by my leather tote bag and the seatbelt, and drive home as carefully as I can, nervous that I’ll spill the lilies and their water all over my seat. Fortunately, I make it home without incident.

As I pull up to the house, my heart leaps as I see a familiar motorcycle parked in the street out front. I feel the pull of desire in my belly at the sight, in spite of myself.

“Hello,” I call from the doorway, my voice sounding shaky. Flowers still in my arms, I round the corner into the kitchen.

And almost drop the vase as I literally bump smack into Dante’s chest.

“Whoa,” he calls out in surprise, his hands flashing out to grab the vase before it tumbles to the floor.

“Oh my god, you scared me,” I gasp. “I thought you were in the basement or something.”

“Nope.” Dante turns and sets the flowers down on the counter beside us. “I just came by to finish up a couple things.”

My heart sinks. “You mean… you’re all done with the project?” I say in a small voice.

“Yep. I checked everything out, and you’re all good.” He nods toward the basement. “I still have a tool box down there. I’ll put it on your front porch and pick it up later, when I’m not on my bike. But congratulations.” He gives me just the hint of a smile. “Your house is officially no longer an electrical fire trap.”

“Wow. Great.”

My words sound hollow. I hope Dante doesn’t notice it. I didn’t realize until now how much I had been thinking of this electrical project as an insurance policy that I’d be seeing him again. Now I don’t have that anymore. All that’s left is for him to pick up his tool box at some point — which I might not even be here for — and for me to pay him. This might be one of the last times I ever even talk to him.

“What’s with the flowers?” Dante asks.

“Oh. Um. It’s my birthday today,” I offer lamely. “They’re from my dad.”

“Is that right?” he answers. “Happy birthday.”

“Thank you.”

A silence opens up between us. My God, this is weird. I shift nervously from foot to foot, feeling awkward as hell. But even so, I don’t want him to leave.

“Your friends taking you out tonight to celebrate?” Dante asks after a moment.

I feel like even more of a loser when I tell him the truth. “No.” I shrug and try to look nonchalant. “I’m just gonna probably lie low tonight. Relax.”

“That sounds pretty lame,” he remarks. I look up at him sharply, my embarrassment making me defensive. I’m just about to fire back a mean retort when he says something else that makes my stomach flip over.

“So… you ever been on a motorcycle before?”

A bubble of hysterical laughter rises in my throat, which I just manage to swallow back down. HaveIever been on a motorcycle before? Hell no, I’ve never been on a motorcycle. Not with the parents I grew up with, seeing disaster lurking around every corner. Even before my diagnosis, my parents would have crapped themselves if their only surviving child had ever gotten on what my mother callsone of those deathtraps.

And now? When in their eyes, every single day that I leave the house is a day that I’m cheating death?

I can only imagine the looks on either of their faces if they knew I was even considering this.

Which may be why I say what I do next.

“You offering?” I ask casually.

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