My post-shower run-in with Ada was all I could think about when I sat down at breakfast with my family, and the fact that Emmy wouldn’t stop hounding me about her didn’t help. She pelted me with questions: Did you know she was the designer when you kissed her? Have you kissed her again? You better not harass her while she’s working. Do you like her? Does she like you?
Did I like her? Absolutely, without a doubt. The more time I spent with her, the more I liked her. Did she like me? I didn’t know. I knew she was attracted to me—you couldn’t fake the heat in her gaze—but that didn’t mean she liked me. At least not the way I liked her.
Which was an all-consuming, daydreaming, slightly annoying way.
I didn’t answer those last two questions from Emmy. It was bad enough that she was giving me the third degree under the watchful and frustratingly observant eye of Amos Ryder, and my siblings’ commentary made it worse. Well, Emmy’s commentary, Luke’s amused face, and Gus’s single comment that basically equated to “Don’t fuck this project up.”
Obviously, I didn’t want to fuck anything up—not the project or whatever was happening with Ada.
I wanted both.
And I wanted her to want both too.
That’s what I was thinking about on Wednesday morning when Ada walked into the small sitting area down the hall from her room. I hadn’t seen her much since the shower debacle, and I had a feeling that was on purpose. On Monday, I didn’t have time to go by the job site, and by the time I’d made it back to the Big House, Ada’s bedroom door was shut and the lights were out. Yesterday, I watched her run out the back door of Baby Blue when I got there, and Evan said he was going to walk me through that day’s progress.
She was doing a great job of avoiding me, so I wondered why she was approaching me now.
“Hey,” she said, looking down at her feet.
“Hey,” I responded, looking up from my sketchbook and taking her in. It was early, maybe around five—I didn’t really know because I hadn’t been sleeping well, so I’d come out here around three to sketch. She hadn’t changed into her work clothes yet. She usually wore overalls with a long-sleeved shirt or a tank top under them. I liked it when she wore a tank top because I could see her tattoos. The sleeve of roses, vines, and thorns inked onto her right arm was all I could think about sometimes. But right now she was wearing black leggings and a black hoodie. In the weeks I’d known her, I’d seen her wear something other than black, white, or denim maybe twice. Three times, if we’re being generous.
On her feet were the socks I’d left outside her door. She wore them all the time, and every time I saw them, I had to try not to smile.
Smiling would give it away and she would know for sure that it’d been me. Then she’d probably decide never to wear them again and let her toes freeze off just to spite me.
I liked that about her—her stubbornness—but it also drove me insane.
She drove me insane.
“I want to talk to you,” she said, still not looking at me.
“New rule,” I replied. “You have to look at me when you talk to me.”
Her eyes shot up. That got her. “You don’t get to make rules,” she said.
“Really? Because you make them all the time,” I said. What was it about her that got under my skin so badly and made me act so different than I would normally? “We can’t look at each other, be near each other, breathe in each other’s general direction. Unless, of course, you accost me after I get out of the shower. Then everything’s fair game.”
“That’s not what happened,” she said with a huff.
“That’s not how I remember it.” I tried not to remember it, actually—the way her hands felt on my back, her sharp breaths that I wanted to bottle, the way she looked at me like she was ready to let whatever was going to happen between us happen.
Because it was going to happen.
Feelings like this didn’t exist to be forced into dormancy. I just had to wait for her to catch up.
“Well, that isn’t what happened,” she said as she folded her arms over her chest.
“Whatever helps you sleep at night, sweetheart.” I looked back down at my sketchbook and started shading some parts of the leaves I was working on. She didn’t go away. She just stood there. I let a minute or so pass before I said, “Did you need something?”
Ada looked annoyed. “Are there any updates on my car?”
Yeah, that piece of shit needed more work than it was worth, but I wasn’t about to tell her that. “I need Brooks to look at it too. He’s better with cars than I am,” I explained. “But from what I can tell, it’s misfiring”—I laughed a little because this next part was going to sound like I was making it up, especially if she knew anything about cars—“in every single cylinder.” The odds that all parts of her engine had something wrong with it were low, but somehow, her car had managed it.
It was kind of impressive, actually.
Ada made a face. “Are you serious?” she said.
I put my hand on my heart. “I promise I am. You need a new battery too.” And who knows what else.
“Okay, well, I need a car to do my job, so if you can’t fix it, I need to find someone who can.” Her speech felt rehearsed. I wondered how long she’d been thinking about this.
“When it comes to cars, you’re not going to find anyone more capable than Brooks.” Which was true. When we were thirteen, he found his old Chevy truck at the junkyard. The owner told Brooks that if he could get it running, he could have it.
He did. And proceeded to drive that truck for over a decade.
“I need a car, Wes,” Ada asserted again.
“Then I’ll get you a car,” I said simply.
“You’re not getting me a car,” she scoffed. Her eyes fell to the floor again and she started tapping her foot.
“Well…do you have another idea?” I asked.
She took a deep breath and then sat on the other end of the couch that I was on. “I want you”—she paused, and I wished she could’ve ended her sentence right there—“to teach me to drive a stick. Like actually teach me. Not that flirty bullshit you did when you drove me to town.” I smiled at the memory of my hand atop hers.
“That wasn’t flirty bullshit,” I said. Ada arched one of her black eyebrows at me. “Okay, fine,” I conceded. “It was flirty, but it was also teaching. It’s easier to do it on the driver’s side once you know what it feels like.”
“Whatever, cowboy.” She shook her head. “So will you teach me or not?”
“I’ll teach you,” I said, trying not to make it obvious that I would’ve gotten down on my knees and begged her to let me. “On one condition,” I added.
Ada rolled her eyes. “What’s the condition?”
“You have to talk to me, Ada. You can’t avoid me like you’ve been doing since you got here. You have this idea of me in your head—which I’m willing to bet isn’t accurate—based on that night. I don’t think that’s fair, and in order for me to prove you wrong, you have to talk to me.” Damn, I was on a roll. “That’s my condition.”
Ada bit her lip, and now my eyes were on her mouth. Goddammit, why did she have to be so…her. So everything.
After a moment, she said, “Fine.” It wasn’t exactly the enthusiastic response I was looking for, but for Ada, I’d take it. “When do we start?”
