“Who?” I question. Defensiveness sets in when I catch wind of his tone. “What are you talking about?”
“Tim. I saw you in his car.” He shoots up from the couch, nearly knocking over the glasses of champagne. “I saw you holding hands so maybe, if you don’t mind,” he snarls with heavy sarcasm. “Maybe you could tell me what the fuck is going on.”
The stuttering noises falling from my mouth are born out of being shocked by how he’s misread the situation. But of course he mistakes it for guilt.
“Unbelievable, Grace,” he shouts, throwing his hands up in the air. “You know,” he laughs, a cynical puff of noise. “It figures it would happen this way. I finally find you and fall for you, harder than I ever fucking thought possible.” Raking his hands through his hair, he stands at the window through which I’m now realizing he saw the scene he’s ranting about as it unfolded.
His broad, strong back is all I see as I stand behind him. Tension-filled anger rolls off him. Even as I wrap my arms around his body from behind, it doesn’t let up. Resting my cheek against his back, I breathe in his clean scent. “It’s not at all–”
Spinning around with a force so strong, he nearly knocks me over, his face twisted in anger and pain. “What I think?” he spits. Finishing my sentence with venom in his words, I pull away from him in disgust. “I don’t even want to hear it. I need to go.”
Storming over to the front door, I beat him to the punch. “Go right ahead. You’re being such an ass right now. Not trusting me and then not even giving me a chance to explain myself. You’re pissed off because of what you thought you saw, but right now I’m angry as fuck at what I’m seeing in your juvenile behavior.”
He stands there, dumbfounded, letting my words hit him. “Just get out.” Holding my arm to the side, I literally show him to the door.
“Grace,” he protests.
“I said get out,” I seethe. “I don’t even want to look at you. How could you not trust me?” Tears threaten and I hold them back. I’ll reserve them for when I’m alone.
“No, I’m not leaving.” He steps toward me, lifting my chin with his fingers. Looking into my eyes, he cringes when he sees the hurt there. Lacing his fingers with mine, he walks us to the couch. He takes a deep breath, turning to face me. “I’m sorry for getting pissed off.” His words are genuine, but still slathered in frustration. “His hands were on you and you were smiling and I lost my shit.” His jaw clenches as he rakes his hands through his hair, pulling on the ends.
“My car broke down and I tried calling you. When you didn’t answer, I thought something had happened to you,” I explain calmly, trying to put myself in his shoes. His reaction isn’t all that far off from the one I had when I saw him leave the bar with Kelsey months ago. Seeing that left me feeling like I’d been punched in the gut.
And he wasn’t even mine at that point.
But now, there’s no doubt in my head or my heart—I am his. There’s nothing possessive or demanding about it. My belonging to him is as simple as my need for air.
“That’s crazy.” The anger vanishes from his face, morphing into something that looks a lot like disbelief.
“You run into burning buildings for a living. The possibility of you getting hurt . . . or worse even . . . it’s real,” I choke out. Giving in to the tears that were building earlier, I lose the battle with my restraint. Tears stream down my cheeks. “When I couldn’t get in touch with you, I worried that you were at work and something happened.”
“You knew I was at my test.” He’s right. Somewhere in my brain I knew I was getting ahead of myself, making something out of nothing, but somehow the worst case scenario was all I could focus on.
“That made it worse,” I add, watching him as he grows more confused. “It made me realize how your job is your life. How dedicated you are and how much you’re willing to sacrifice. When you’re at work . . .” I catch my breath, struggling to find the words to convey my emotions, “If I don’t hear from you for more than a few hours, the anxiety consumes me. I get panicky and restless. And then, when the phone rings, or I see a text come in, the unease evaporates.”
“Sweetheart.” Swiping a tear away from my face, he presses his lips to my cheek. “I don’t know what to say.”
“There’s nothing to say. It’s something I’m going to have to get used to.” Inhaling a shuddery breath, I lean into his touch. “Because if spending the rest of my life with you is the tradeoff for a few panic attacks and a bunch of sleepless nights, then I still make out pretty well.”
His eyes widen. “The rest of your life?”
“Shit,” I curse. “Did I say that aloud? I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to freak you out. I know guys don’t want to hear things like that. I’m sorry. I take it–”
Pressing his finger to my lips, he shushes me. “Don’t take it back. Ever.” He kisses me, sweetly at first, then something deeper and more meaningful takes over. Pulling his lips from mine, he reaches behind me and takes something out from behind the couch. Dropping to his knees in front of me, he’s holding a gift bag in his hands.
“That better not be–”
Shooting me a cockeyed look, he shakes his head. “No, babe.” When he adds, “Not yet,” my heart races. “Just open it, please.”
As soon as I take the bag from his hand, I realize it’s way too heavy to be disguise packaging for a ring box. Relief battles disappointment, but he said not yet and that’s good enough for now. Hidden under the tissue paper is a navy blue T-shirt. The color is the same as the majority of his collection of FDNY shirts. When I lift it out of the bag and read the red and white screen printing across the front, I break out into a fit of hysterical laughter. “Oh, my God. No you didn’t.” Holding my brand new I heart David Andrews shirt against my chest, I shoot him a huge, goofy smile.
“I did,” he admits proudly.
“It’s perfect.” Turning it over, I laugh even more when I see he’s printed the exact words I spoke the other night across the back. “You are such a dork.”
“Yep, but I’m your dork.”
“I’m sorry for getting so worried.” Picking at an imaginary piece of lint, I keep my eyes focused on my new shirt. I know it was wrong of me to overreact like that, but there was nothing I could do to stop the panic from controlling my brain.
Covering my hand with his, he draws my attention back to his gorgeous face. “I’m sorry, too. It was wrong of me to jump to conclusions about Tim.” His name still sounds foul coming out of David’s mouth, but I know he means every word of his apology.
Needing to put all this behind us, I change the subject. “So, how was your test? Did you ace it?” Running his hand through his hair, he seems tense. Shit. Maybe it didn’t go that well.
Shrugging, he deflects with a simple, “It was okay.”
“Okay?” I nearly shriek. “You studied that fine ass of yours off for months. It had to be better than okay.” Butterflies take flight in my belly thinking about him and those glasses. Damn, I don’t mind when those are around.
“Fine. It was better than okay,” he admits. “Ian and I compared answers after the test with a few other guys there. It was a fair test and the prep materials were right in line with everything, so I feel good about it.”
A sense of awe descends over me. This beautiful, kind, intelligent man is all mine. As if I hadn’t already, I fall hard for him. “I’m so freaking proud of you. And I’m so happy you were here, despite the misunderstanding.” Sliding closer to him, my leg brushes against his. My fingers dance along his corded forearm, heat passing between us. “I like when you’re here.”
His eyes scan my face before settling on my lips. Taking them in a moment of passion, he pulls me impossibly close to him. “I do, too.” His strong hand dives into my hair, pulling me to within an inch of his soft, full mouth. “And you’re not getting rid of me,” he asserts.