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“All of the above.”
I shrugged. “Physically, I feel fine, I guess. I get a little tired every now and then is all. I’m pretty active and stay in shape, but I get short of breath a little faster than usual.”
“That’s normal.” He nodded, as if confirming suspicions he had already harbored. “It’ll get better. And otherwise?”
How much did I share? I felt like I’d held everything in for so long, I was ready to explode with information. Definitely more information than this man expected to hear. Even in my talks to Aly, I couldn’t open up as much as I wanted to. Nobody wanted to hear all the sad things happening in someone’s life. It made them too sad. I never wanted to be that person. I always wanted to look on the bright side, to prop everyone else up.
The world was a sad place on its own.
But I was running out of things to keep me going. I shook my head and turned back toward the entrance, watching the cars drive past on the street. “Everything’s a mess. I feel like, I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore.”
“Well, the house repairs will take time,” he said, misunderstanding my concerns. “I can come by and help you if you need it.”
Yes, please!
“No. It’s fine. I—” The last thing I needed was a hunky distraction in my living room. I couldn’t imagine spending hours on end with this man and not eventually jumping him. And then to see him all sweaty, doing repair work, his shirt clinging to his body like…
This was exactly the problem!
“I’ll get it taken care of eventually,” I said, clenching my eyes closed to think more clearly. Anything to take my mind off the image of Hunter standing half naked in my house. “It’s just…”
Just what? My parents were blackmailing me. My cousins hated me. I couldn’t leave the town I had avoided for, like, forever. And now my house was burned to a crisp.
“Nothing’s been the same since my grandmother died,” the words flew past my lips before I could stop them. I shouldn’t be sharing personal details about my life with a stranger. I shouldn’t be bothering him with any of this. No one ever really wanted to hear all the negative things going on in a person’s life. But he just made me feel so safe. Like I could tell him anything.
And he would actually listen.
“She was everything to me,” I said softer, the words choking me. “And now...I just don’t even know how to go on.”
“Ah. Your grandmother…” He tipped his head back, examining the ceiling as if searching through it to find his words. “The music box?”
“Yes. It was hers. ” I nodded, turning away to sift through my memories without bursting into tears. I needed this. I needed this conversation that no one else around me would let me have. They all wanted to move on. They wanted to forget, forge their own way. I was the only one still stuck in the past.
“She used to play it for me every night,” I said. “Mama and Daddy always worked so much. They would work late, or go out of town to take a deposition, or whatever. Something always came up. And it was always just me and my grandmother. She would tuck me in at night, tell me stories, and then right before she left the room, she’d play the music box. And I would go right to sleep while listening to it.”
Silence. Great! I’d finally said too much. I’d practically just had a therapy session with this man who asked nothing more than “how are you?”. Is this how it was going to be from now on? I would be so grief-stricken, that a person would just say “hello” and bam! The story of my life from toddler to awkward teens and more.
But when I turned to face him, a small part of me crumbled at the sight of him. My chest tightened, trapping the breath in my lungs like a brisk morning run. His beautiful blue eyes captured mine, a meld of compassion and understanding that bore no pity. It was as if he not only cared about what I had to say, but that he knew the pain I wore all too well.
A silent struggle sieged within me, wanting to draw him close, to curl up against him the way I had that night of the fire. I wanted to be lost in his embrace, allowing him to soothe the aches taking hold of me.
Instinctively, I leaned forward, my eyes falling to his lips. I could kiss him here, in front of everyone. No one would care. He wanted to kiss me. I’d seen that look a hundred times, and yet I’d never wanted so badly to make it happen.
“I’m sorry,” he said, suddenly. “I shouldn’t have just assumed—”
“That I was some materialistic princess trying to save something expensive?”
He seemed surprised that I knew exactly what he’d been thinking all along. I was a blonde who wore makeup and got herself pretty well put together. People always just assumed I was materialistic, or stupid, or ditzy. I had learned just to ignore it for the most part.
“Yeah, that.” He raked a hand through his thick, brown hair. Every espresso-colored strand trailing between his fingers inspired a wicked little thought.
I needed to leave this restaurant soon, or I’d be launching myself into his arms any second now.
“Well, I’m happy to see you humbled,” I said instead. Because “Take me now” just seemed too out of place.
“I know what it’s like to lose someone you care about,” he explained. “You feel like you have so much to live up to in order to make them proud. But I’m sure whatever you’re doing, you’re doing what your grandmother would have wanted.”
That same ache tugged within me, the one inspiring me to reach out and touch him. Who had he lost? And how on earth did this man who rescued foolish women from burning buildings, then listen to them carry on about their feelings as if nothing else in the world mattered, think he had done nothing to make the one he lost proud?
