“So winning isn’t important?”
“Of course it’s important, but with thirty-six races a year, it’s impossible to be on top all the time. If I win four to six times in a season, that’s good enough to put me in the top three for the year as long as my stats are solid.”
As an event planner, London was accustomed to dealing with a lot of numbers. It was how she kept her clients happy while maximizing their budget and remaining profitable. She was interested in trying to understand the way driver standings were determined.
“How many other drivers are there?”
“Almost sixty.”
“What was your worst year?”
“The year I started—2004. I finished fifty-eighth.”
“How old were you?”
“Nineteen.” Harrison’s lips twisted in self-deprecating humor. “And I thought I knew everything there was to know.”
London considered what she’d been like at nineteen and couldn’t relate. She’d been a freshman in college, away from her parents for the first time and struggling to figure out who she was.
“And now?” she prompted.
“Still learning,” he said. “Always improving.”
“Those seem like good words to live by,” she said.
His blend of confidence and humility was endearing. London softened still more toward him even as she marveled at his gamesmanship.
The waitress approached to check on their meal and London watched the man across from her charm the woman with his friendliness. The contrast between the two brothers struck her again. During her brief introduction to Tristan, the way the man had looked her over had made London feel like running home and taking a shower.
“Did you leave any room for dessert?” the waitress asked.
Harrison glanced her way and London shook her head. “But don’t let me stop you from ordering something.”
“I hate to eat alone.” And once the waitress had left with their plates, Harrison finished, “Besides, I’d much rather grab an ice cream cone at Swenson’s.”
“I haven’t been there in years,” London said, remembering what a rare treat it had been when her father had taken her there.
“Then it’s time to go, don’t you think?” He didn’t wait for her answer before asking, “What is your favorite flavor? Please don’t say vanilla.”
“I don’t know.” She was struck by rising delight at the thought of enjoying such a simple, satisfying treat with Harrison. “Maybe strawberry.”
“A few months ago they introduced a strawberry, honey balsamic, with black pepper ice cream. It’s really good.”
“You know quite a bit about the place.” London’s mouth watered as she imagined all those delicious flavors harmonizing on her taste buds. “Do you take all your dates there?” She didn’t mean the question to sound so flippant and flushed beneath his keen regard.
“You’d be the first.”
“That was rude of me. I’m sorry.”
“Are you skeptical of all men?” he asked. “Or is it just me?”
She took a second to consider his question before answering. “Not all men and not you. It’s just that since Linc and I...” She wished she hadn’t brought up her ex-fiancé’s name again. “The breakup has left me feeling exposed and I lash out at unexpected moments. I’m sorry.”
“He really hurt you.”
“Yes and no.” She really didn’t want to talk about Linc over a first-date dinner with Harrison, but maybe it would be good to clear the air. “All my life I’ve achieved whatever I set my mind to. Except for one thing. Social acceptance in certain circles. In Charleston it’s impossible to become an insider. You have to be born into it. When Linc and I got engaged, it opened doors I’d spent my life knocking on.”
London sighed as she finished her explanation. She wanted Harrison to understand what had driven her. His own family was self-made, parlaying hard work into a booming automotive empire. Would he view her hunger to belong to a group of “insiders” as petty and shallow?