Despite the many valid reasons she had for sending him on his way, her mind latched on the practicality of his words and decided accepting his offer was a good idea. “That sounds great. I’d appreciate it.”
“Good. We’ll start with breakfast because I’m starving, but no rush. Whenever you’re ready. And dress warm.”
The only things Cait had been able to find that Wren could wear were leggings and sweatshirts, but she’d make do. And she’d shoved her feet into her sneakers before she’d succumbed to the smoke last night, so she had those.
The loss of almost everything she owned threatened to crush her, but she took a slow, deep breath and forced herself to recognize how grateful she was to do so. And she had her car, her purse and friends.
And Grant. For today, at least, she had the man she’d loved—and walked away from—back in her life.
Chapter Four
The early morning air was like an icy slap in the face as Grant walked out of Gavin’s building, and he felt an urge to back up and let it slap him again.
What the hell was he doing?
He could have given Wren the bag of stuff, made sure she was okay, and left. Hell, he could have given the bag to Gavin and not seen her at all.
Instead, he was holding the door for her because he was taking her out for breakfast. Almost like a date.
Not a date, he told himself in no uncertain terms.
He was just helping her out because she was a friend. Or had been a friend. He didn’t know what she was now.
They didn’t have to walk far to where his Jeep was parked, which was good. Wren had been reluctant to go into Gavin and Cait’s closet, but Grant wasn’t shy. He couldn’t do much about the leggings and sneakers, but he’d found a heavy Boston Fire sweatshirt in Gavin’s drawer and a parka of Cait’s in the closet.
But he should have dug around for a scarf, he thought when the frigid air hit Wren’s lungs and triggered a coughing fit. She winced and put the arm not covering her mouth over her ribs. They probably hurt not only from coughing, but from being carried down the stairs over his shoulder.
She slowed when she spotted his Wrangler. “Oh, you got the new wheels you wanted for it. The ones in the catalog on your coffee table. And those are new lights, right?”
“Yeah.” He didn’t want to talk about the money he’d put into the Jeep. If she’d blown him off a couple of weeks later, the chunk of cash he’d spent on the vehicle would have been spent and those wheels would have been the perfect diamond ring he’d chosen for her after months of trying to find the right one.
He wasn’t going to think about that right now, he told himself. Sure, Wren had broken his heart and made him question whether he even wanted to stay in Boston. Life had been pretty empty since she left. But she’d almost died last night and she’d lost everything she owned—except, hopefully, her car—and he needed to help lift her up. Dragging them both down into the past would only make them miserable.
After hitting the button to unlock the doors, he opened hers. Even after five months, it was just habit to offer his hand so she could steady herself as she stepped up onto the running board and into the jacked-up Jeep. She smiled as she reached for her seat belt and, for a few beautiful seconds, it was if she’d never been gone.
Maybe it was simply self-preservation, but he avoided their usual breakfast spots and took her to a little place near the fire station that he liked, but was far enough from his apartment so they hadn’t gone there together.
It didn’t matter. He could have driven her to some random place in Vermont and once he sat down across the table from her and she smiled that soft, slightly shy smile at him, his heart would have beat a little faster.
This is what his life was supposed to look like.
“You left your job at the bookstore,” he said, after they’d ordered omelets—his stuffed with veggies and hers with meats—and fixed their coffees. “What are you doing now?”
“I miss that job so much.” She sighed, fiddling with her silverware. “But I’m working part-time at a market in the evenings and part-time as a receptionist at a hair salon a few days a week.”
“Don’t let them screw with your hair,” he said without thinking. Grant loved her hair. Loved gathering it in his hands before tightening his grip and tilting her head back for a slow, deep kiss. He realized it had been a stupid thing to say, though, and cleared his throat. “Unless you want them to. It’s, you know, your hair, of course. Are you supposed to work today? Or tonight?”
She shook her head. “I was already scheduled to be off at the salon and I called the market a few minutes before you got there and told the owner what happened. He said I could have tonight and tomorrow night off and that he’d still pay me.”
“That’s really decent of him.”
“It is. It’s not the best paying job I’ve ever had, but they’re really nice people. They’re an older couple and they thought it would be a family business, but their kids grew up and went off to have their own careers, so they’re trying to slow down a little.”
They made small talk until their breakfasts arrived. She talked about the salon for a few minutes, and then she asked about the people in his life. He caught her up and, once the food arrived, they talked in between bites. She ate slowly, chewing a lot and swallowing with some obvious discomfort.
“Have you been spending a lot of time at Kincaid’s?” she asked after a while.
He wondered if that was her way of asking about his social life, and maybe whether or not he was dating. Kincaid’s Pub was owned by Scott Kincaid’s dad, and all of the guys from Engine 59 and Ladder 37 hung out there. Wren had been a few times, though meeting her had cured Grant of his need to be out on the town all the time. He’d much preferred quiet nights at home with her, watching TV or playing cards or whatever she was in the mood for.
