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She shifts beside me, scooting up and pivoting to face me. “The name you gave the arts center in the building tonight—I didn’t realize you were going to dedicate it after your mom.”
I nod. “The Elizabeth Xavier Center.”
“It’s such a fitting tribute to her, Nick. The entire recreation center is really something special. Can you believe all of the creative classes are completely booked up already?”
I blow out a sigh, running a hand over my jaw. “I wasn’t expecting that, no.”
“That just speaks to the need you’re filling in the community. Maybe you should consider expanding.”
I chuckle because her mind evidently works similarly to mine. “I texted Lily before we left for the restaurant to schedule a staff meeting to discuss using this center as a model for other areas of the city.”
“Why stop there? Every city in the country could use a gathering place like the one you’ve created. Take your concept national.”
I stare at her, struck silent by the depth of my feelings for this woman. I have the faith of corporate giants and people worth many hundreds of millions of dollars, but the belief I see in Avery’s face is the one that renders me speechless. It reaches into me, to a place only she has been able to touch.
Christ, her belief in me goes beyond humbling. It staggers me.
It also gives me a strength unlike anything else before in my life.
She makes me believe I can do anything. Be anything.
Overcome anything.
“It’s been my dream all along to make this work in a big community and then one day take it wider. I don’t mean for money or recognition. I’ve got enough of one and couldn’t care less about the other. I want to do it for the kids who need a place like that. For the ones who don’t have anywhere else to go.”
“Kids like you,” she says quietly, tenderly.
“Yeah. For kids like me.”
Her fingers find my hand, the one riddled with ugly scars. Her touch is light, her fingertips following the ghosts of the jagged lacerations.
Usually when I look at my scars—when I so much as think of them—my head fills with all the memories of that night, and the horrors that preceded it. My father’s raging voice, the accusations that exploded out of me, all them finally too immense for me to carry any longer. His vicious denials.
His utter repudiation of me, his son.
“You’re a good man, Dominic Baine.”
“No. I’m not. But I want to be. For you.”
“You’re the only man I want. The only one I love.”
She draws me to her mouth and kisses me. It’s unhurried and sweet, yet I can taste the need in it too. When she draws back, her eyes are heavy-lidded and dusky in the dim glow of the limousine interior and the blur of city lights that streak by on the other side of the windows.
“So, on a proper date scale of one to ten, how am I doing?”
She laughs softly, happiness beaming in her face. “Off the charts.”
I grunt in acknowledgment. “If you’re referring to this afternoon before we left for the ribbon-cutting, I agree.”
Her grin flashes. “Well, it was definitely a good start.”
“Are you suggesting you’re not finished with me, Ms. Ross?”
“Oh, I’m more than suggesting.”
“Is that right?” My brows rise, along with another part of my anatomy that’s already gotten a good head start. I glance up at the rearview mirror where my longtime driver’s eyes remain
dutifully focused on the evening traffic. “Patrick, how fast can you get us to the Park Place building?”
