Part 11:
And you like her, Sophie. You do. You were all smiley again and you held her hand. She held my hand. Same thing. Sophie grabbed his arm, pulling him back toward the shop. So, where are you taking her tomorrow? I haven’t decided yet. Take her somewhere fun, not boring adult stuff. Like where? I don’t know. The aquarium pike place.
Ooh, you could take her to that place with the mini golf in the arcade. I’m not taking a billionaire to an arcade. Why not? She liked the diner. That was actually a good point. Viven had seemed more relaxed eating greasy burgers than she probably ever was at those expensive restaurants where people close deals over salmon and quinoa. I’ll think about it, he said.
Think yes. The rest of the day passed in a blur of work and planning. The break job turned into a break job plus rotors. The Subaru’s rattle revealed itself as a heat shield, and Sophie somehow managed to finish her homework and reorganize his entire filing system in the process. “You had invoices from 2019 mixed with the current stuff,” she informed him.
“I made folders.” “You didn’t have to do that. Someone had to. Your system was chaos. My system was fine. Your system was finding things by memory and hoping.” She had him there. They locked up at 6:00, drove home through Saturday evening traffic, and ordered pizza because neither of them had the energy to cook.
Sophie fell asleep on the couch halfway through a nature documentary about penguins, and Ethan carried her to bed before collapsing on the couch himself. His phone buzzed. Vivien, how did the rest of your day go? He smiled and typed back, “Good. Sophie reorganized my office. She’s productive. She’s terrifying. pretty sure she’s going to be running her own company by age 12. I’d invest in that.
They texted back and forth for an hour, the conversation flowing easier than it should have between two people who’d known each other for less than 48 hours. She told him about her meeting, some acquisition in Singapore that was giving her legal team fits. He told her about the Subaru’s rattle, and how satisfying it was to finally track down the problem. Normal stuff, easy stuff.
until she asked, “What made you become a mechanic?” He stared at the question for a long moment before answering. “My dad, he had a shop when I was growing up, smaller than mine, if you can believe that. He taught me everything. How to listen to an engine, how to diagnose problems, how to tell when someone was trying to you.
” He died when I was 17. Heart attack in the shop. I found him under a Chevy Impala. The three dots appeared and disappeared several times before her response came through. I’m so sorry. It was a long time ago. That doesn’t make it easier. No, it doesn’t. Another pause. Then my father died when I was 19. Cancer. He built Heart Industries from nothing, and I watched him work himself to death trying to make it bigger.
Sometimes I wonder if the company was worth it. Ethan read the message twice, understanding the weight of what she just shared. Is that why you took over to finish what he started? Maybe. Or maybe I was too scared to imagine doing anything else? That’s honest. You’re easy to be honest with. He didn’t know what to say to that, so he just sent back same. They texted until midnight.
The conversation wandering through childhood memories and bad jobs and the strange moments that had led them both to where they were. When Viven finally said good night, Ethan sat in the dark living room and realized something that should have terrified him, but didn’t. He was falling for her. Fast, messy, completely impractical, but real.
His phone buzzed one more time. Tomorrow, 2:00 p.m. Wear something you don’t mind getting wet. He typed back, “What are we doing? It’s a surprise, trust me. Should I be worried?” Probably, “But do it anyway.” He laughed and sent back a thumbs up. Then headed to bed with his mind already racing through possibilities.
The aquarium maybe or a harbor cruise. Something that involved water and wouldn’t require him to pretend he knew anything about fine dining. Whatever it was, he’d figure it out. He was good at figuring things out even when they didn’t make sense. Sunday morning arrived with Sophie jumping on his bed at 7:30, which was apparently her new favorite way to wake him up.
Dad, you have a date today. What are you wearing? Where are you going? Can I help you pick your shirt? Ethan groaned and pulled the pillow over his face. Sophie, it’s 7:30. The date isn’t until 2:00. That’s only 6 and 1/2 hours. You need to plan. I need to sleep. She yanked the pillow away. No sleeping, planning.
Get up. There was no winning this argument, so Ethan dragged himself out of bed and stumbled toward the kitchen. Sophie followed, already rattling off suggestions like she’d been thinking about this all night. You should wear the blue shirt, not the one with the stain, the other blue one. And your good jeans, not the work ones.
And you need to shower first because you still smell like the shop. Thanks for that. Just being honest. She climbed onto a kitchen chair, watching him make coffee with the intensity of a football coach reviewing game footage. Are you nervous? Should I be? Probably. She’s really pretty and really rich. That’s intimidating.
