By the time I’d placed the order, the fire was crackling nicely, the flames licking at the edges of the large log that Ahearn had placed in the back. Reaching for his hand again, I pulled him over to the sofa and held onto him until he took the hint and sat next to me. He was stiff and unyielding, but this time I knew that his anger was for himself, not me.
“Why did you want to look through the scrapbooks? I admit I thought you were doing it to torture me this morning, but now I know that wasn’t the reason.”
Ahearn made a noise in his throat. “I want to remember what we had, but you didn’t want to talk about our past,” he explained, his eyes trained on the pile of old books.
Oh.
“You rescued me,” I said softly.
“What?” Ahearn looked startled when he jerked to face me.
“You asked me how we became intimate,” I explained. “I never answered you. As it seems that we have a few minutes now, I imagine this is as good of a time as any.”
