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Redmond couldn’t help the choked laugh that escaped him at her comment.
“How about beautiful?”
“Ah, that’s a good one,” she teased, giving him a challenging look. “You look good, too.”
Redmond hadn’t expected a sense of humor when he agreed to the date, and some of the tension eased from him.
“Let me start this off on the right note. I’m sorry for the way I came on to you before. It won’t happen again. I genuinely want to thank you for what you did for me, so… thank you,” she said. “I also completely understand that this isn’t a date. Just to clear things up.”
Redmond sagged at the words. He didn’t know what he wanted. He’d been clear about not wanting this to be a date, but seeing her changed that certainty into a mucky, illogical assertion. He felt like he couldn’t change his mind—not when he knew her feelings were temporary. He couldn’t set himself and his daughter up for another heartbreak.
“Not a date,” he affirmed.
“Good. Now, I’d like to take our seat. My armpits are killing me because of these crutches.”
Her attractiveness and humor, he could handle. Redmond had been around enough beautiful women in his days. Even the way she spoke with such authoritative assertion left him unfazed. It had, after all, been a quality in both of his spouses, all the way back to meeting Courtney in high school. The thing that undid him the most—the one thing he’d never built barriers against—was the slight accent that hid beneath her words. The way her pronunciations came close to his but faltered slightly with the ‘r’ sound.
He was so damned attracted to her.
They made their way to their table. Chelsea sat across from him and propped her crutches against an adjacent wall.
“Have you eaten here before?” she asked.
Redmond shook his head as he glanced down at the menu.
“A man of few words,” she mused. His eyes moved above his menu and watched as hers darted from the left to right as she read hers. “It’s a good thing I’m a woman of many.”
The server stopped by the table, and took their drink orders, glancing between them and leaving with a smile. Chelsea hardly looked up from her menu as she relayed that she wanted nothing more than water with lemon. He ordered a tall glass of whatever was on tap.
“You don’t want wine?” he asked.
She peered up at him again, humor dancing through her eyes. “I don’t drink. I never got into the taste of alcohol, and now it feels a bit too late to indulge. It does seem like the perfect place to order a glass of wine, though,” she conceded. “Other than the fact that I don’t read Italian.”
Redmond glanced at the wine menu and cringed. “Understood.”
“Tell me about yourself, Redmond. I know you’re a full-time firefighter, and Emily mentioned that you’re pretty good at your job. What else do you do?”
In short, the answer was nothing. He went home and spent time with Kaitlyn sometimes. Outside of the fire department and his daughter, though, he did little. He often took on home improvement projects on his days off, and he taught Kaitlyn all about woodwork, which she seemed entirely uninterested in doing. He’d had a dog until it ran away and likely found a new home.
Redmond had an ordinary, boring life.
But it was all he wanted. All he’d ever expected.
“There’s not much to tell. What do you do?” he asked, purposely deferring the question.
The server came back with their drinks, and she rested her menu on the table, staring intently at him.
“Don’t think I didn’t notice the change in subject, Mr. Donovan,” she teased, the cunning light in her pale blue eyes flaring. “But I’m a workaholic. I’m a literary agent—Emily’s agent, actually. I have a nephew, but no kids. I used to have a fluffy white Pomeranian, but she didn’t get nearly enough attention after…. Well, you know, so my neighbor adopted her. Sometimes I volunteer at the women's shelter with the little time I have left after work, but that only happens every few weeks. Now, give me something. One thing about you.”
Going into the dinner, he had no intention of divulging any personal information. He wanted nothing to do with her after the night. He knew exactly where a relationship between them would lead, and he had no intention of proving himself right. But the woman drew him in with her glances and held his attention unlike any woman ever had.
His heart skipped a beat as he remembered Claire. He felt like he was cheating on her, despite losing her four years ago.
“I have a daughter,” he finally managed.
“How old is she?”
Chelsea appeared entirely interested in the conversation. From experience, most women cringed, and it tended to ruin any potential relationship, but Chelsea didn’t have that reaction. Not even close. She appeared intrigued. Interesting.
