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“If I were on a date, she’d still wind up panting and breathless, I can assure you.” He shifted to his side and propped his head up with his elbow and hand. “But after I wined and dined her, of course. Food first. Then the calorie burner after.”
Ugh. I didn’t need to think about this man rolling around in bed with a naked woman. “Well, I could certainly use the dining part right about now. I’m starving. But I’m a hot mess, and we’d probably be unwelcome anywhere.”
“I think I have an idea.” He grinned and switched to his knees, then offered a hand so we could both stand together. “Come on.”
I accepted his rough palm, my heart colliding with my ribs at the contact. “Thanks.”
He held my hand a few seconds longer than necessary, then cleared his throat and pulled away.
We changed and returned our gear, then headed to his truck. It was a quiet ride, both of us either caught up in our own thoughts, or too worried about what those thoughts might betray if we voiced them. Or maybe that was just me.
It was cooler today than yesterday. More “fall-like,” and I loved it. Charlotte’s weather had mood swings on point with mine lately. Hot one minute. Cold the next. Not always much in between this time of year.
Twenty minutes later, we were at a park on top of a blanket he’d rolled out in the bed of his truck, eating Chick-fil-A. Of course he knew my favorite fast food. I tried not to moan after the first bite of my sandwich.
“Maybe you do know how to win a girl over,” I teased, dipping a fry into honey mustard next.
He was sitting opposite me, our legs stretched out, backs to the interior walls while we ate. I couldn’t see his eyes behind his aviator shades, but his attention was fixed my way when he said, “I have my moments.” He ate a few bites and then asked, “How’s your stress? Better now after hitting the gym?”
I assumed he meant work stress. Not lack-of-orgasm stress. “You want to ask me how bad things are, don’t you?” I set my sandwich down and wiped my hands on a napkin.
He quietly nodded.
I shifted my food to the side and propped up my knees, pulling them to my chest. “I’ll make you a deal, a question for a question. If we’re still doing this get-to-know-you thing, I’ll answer yours if you promise to answer a few of mine.” I rolled my tongue around the inside of my mouth, trying to do a discreet check of my teeth to ensure they were clean.
“As long as you don’t ask anything about classified missions, I suppose I can play that game.” He balled up his empty wrapper and kept it in his closed hand, squeezing it like a stress ball. Even the mention of operating had him on edge.
“Fair enough.” I let go of an uneasy breath. “To answer your question, yeah, things are bad. I’m not sure if the restaurant will make it to Christmas, to be honest,” I confessed. “I just . . .” My shoulders collapsed in defeat. “I’ve dreamed about owning a place since I was a kid. Spent my twenties working in restaurants to learn the business. Took off to New York thinking, what better place than there to get to know the ins and outs of owning a restaurant? I thought I was ready when we opened.” I pinched the bridge of my nose and bowed my head. “But I’m failing.”
“Hey now.” At the feel of his hand on my ankle, his warm palm sliding in small circles beneath my jeans, I looked up at him. “In the SEALs, we like to say, ‘Never out of the fight.’” He paused to let the words sink in. “Same applies to you.”
“‘It ain’t over until it’s over’ kind of thing?”
“Precisely.” He smiled. “You keep fighting—”
“Until you can’t?” I interjected. He frowned at my words, as if they’d had a much more personal meaning than I’d intended. I winced when the realization of what those words meant to him sunk in.
He had to stop operating three years ago. But, knowing this man, he would never have quit.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered, hoping he’d hear the multiple apologies embedded in my words.
He shook his head. “It’s fine. Really,” he said and cleared his throat, as if trying to discard his emotions. “But um, we SEALs, also know when to ask for help.” He kept his hand on my ankle, continuing to smooth the pad of his thumb in small, comforting circles.
What should’ve been an insignificant touch felt like one of the most intimate moments of my life.
“Well, that might be a lie.” A quick smile came and went. “We’re hardheaded and stubborn, but we’ll ask for help if it means saving others. And I’m thinking you’re like that. You have people who rely on you. So, let me help you.”
I flinched at his suggestion, not expecting the conversation to go in that direction. “You don’t need to be everyone’s hero.”
“Fine.” He shrugged. “I’ll just be yours.”
The way he’d dropped those last words hit me right in the heart. I seized a deep breath, trying to understand what was going on. The most frustrating man I’d ever met had been a thorn in my side, albeit a sexy thorn, for years. And he was quickly becoming everything I never knew I needed.
“I can’t accept a handout,” I decided. “I’m sorry.”
He studied me for a moment. Based on the tight draw of his lips, his hidden gaze was likely narrowed, and he was ready to fight me on this. “Consider it a loan with zero percent interest and a fifty-year repayment plan, then.”
No way would I ask him to lend me the nine thousand I needed when banks didn’t even trust me to pay them back. I’d already maxed out my credit cards, though. And I couldn’t get approved for another.
