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“Do you need help?” Jessie asked, looking over a folder. The stacks in front of her were each over a foot high, and Chelsea sighed. At least the trash pile had the most files, eliminating over one-third of her workload.
“No, I just need a breather.”
Jessie nodded and continued her mission. The woman, with her hipster glasses and fierce hair, would fit in with her company. She had a take-charge attitude, respected those above her, and frankly, she looked the part. Literary agents needed to be attractive to sell the manuscripts, and Jessie’s flawless dark skin and sincere smile would take her far in the world of literature.
Chelsea pulled her phone to her face and opened Facebook with one purpose in mind. After today, she’d let the thought of Redmond Donovan go. She’d seek another man who would suit her interests, and she’d be just as happy for it. But first, she needed to find Redmond and apologize for the way she came onto him when he’d shown clear disinterest. Chelsea was nothing if not classy, and her antics were an abomination to her reputation.
Chelsea didn’t beg for men. That’s not how she rolled.
She went to the search bar on Facebook, and his name appeared at the top of her search with a couple of mutual friends—Emily being one of them. Chelsea went immediately to the messenger and typed out a generous, apologetic message. She explained that she was grateful for what he did, and that she was apologetic for the way she handled the situation.
She wrote out the concluding line of the email:Best wishes on all your future endeavors, Mr. Donovan.Chelsea’s fingers hovered over the send button, but she paused. She didn’t need to sound so formal, did she? Formal apologies were never as sincere as informal ones. She clicked and held the delete button until only empty space remained where the formal line had rested. She tried again.
The offer for dinner is still on the table (I know, horrible pun) if you would like. Purely platonic, of course. I really do apologize for coming onto you. Thanks again, Redmond!
Chelsea didn’t allow herself to hesitate as she hit send.
She backed out of her Messenger app and faced his profile once more. His header was an American flag, and his profile picture was the logo of the Engine 10 Company. Did he even access his Facebook? She scrolled down and the first post was a series of photos. Redmond was in two of them, sitting alongside a little girl with light brown hair and a wide, crooked smile. Another woman sat on the other side of the little girl, holding what appeared to be the child’s jacket.
The little girl lookedjustlike Redmond.
Chelsea had no idea that he was a father. In fact, she knew little about him aside from his profession at the fire department, so she continued scrolling. She’d been correct in assuming he didn’t post often, as, after a few swipes, she found newborn photos of the same little girl, him in a military uniform.
Redmond looked good in uniform.
Chelsea scoffed at her ignorance and closed out of Facebook, assuming he wouldn’t respond to her message. The moment was over, and she had no intention of ever hearing from him again. Chelsea sat her phone face-up on her desk and took one long breath before grabbing the manuscript and raising it to her face.
Her phone pinged with an incoming message.
Chelsea had never grabbed a phone so quickly in her life, pulling it to her face and reading a message from no other than Redmond Donovan.
No apology needed. I’d be willing to get dinner.
The response both surprised and excited her. It was the last thing she’d expected. Part of her expected him to entirely ignore her message and allow them both to move on with their lives. His response confused her more than anything. He’d been so adamant about staying away from her a mere week ago, going as far as to leave her without a parting farewell.
Did she really want to go to this dinner? Would he tell her that he didn’t appreciate the persistence? Chelsea put her nerves aside and ignored the pestering voices in the back of her mind as she typed out her response.
Name a time and a place. I’ll be there.
4
When Redmond sent the message agreeing to dinner with Chelsea, he’d been so deep in his thoughts that he didn’t think twice about the implications. He’d been thinking about Courtney’s words for days, finding himself daydreaming even when he had Kaitlyn. Seeing a therapist was something he hadn’t thought about doing since the military provided a therapist he’d been forced to see after Iraq.
Suffice to say, therapists weren’t for him.
When Chelsea texted, Redmond assumed a distraction would be nice and set up a time and date for their dinner. He found himself contemplating her white knight syndrome as he waited in the lobby of the restaurant, awaiting her arrival. She seemed cool—not like one of the women who would obsessively stalk him for weeks after their incidents. He hoped.
When he saw a woman crutching down the sidewalk toward the door, Redmond reacted, pulling it open as he watched her through. Chelsea stood a little straighter after entering, or as straight as she could with her dependence on the crutches.
Nevertheless, she was as stunning as the first time he saw her. Her hair fell to her shoulders, straightened and silky. She wore makeup, but not much, from what he could tell. Chelsea tended toward light makeup, as her face held enough of a natural glow on its own. The top she wore, red and low cut, showed off just enough cleavage that he had to pull his eyes away from her breasts and force himself to continue his slow scan of her body, all the way to the end of her black boot, and then back up to her eyes.
He couldswimin the pale blue of her eyes. They appeared so cloudy and bright that they seemed almost eerie, but the cunning and gentle humor within them reminded Redmond of a clear, blue lake, lit by sunlight and surrounded by warmth. He never thought that eyes as bright as hers existed until meeting her.
“Are you done?” she teased, awarding him similar scrutiny. He’d dressed nicely, but not as professionally as her. Where she wore a low-cut top and dress pants, he wore a dressy T-shirt and khakis. His arm scars remained for the world to see, but nearly nobody had paid him much attention since he’d entered the restaurant.
“You look good,” he told her.
She raised a brow. “I would have gone with a different word. Stunning, gorgeous, spectacular. Maybe exquisite, but that might have been too far.”
