“You’re still here,” she said, sliding into the chair across from me.
She set one of the glasses down in front of me—bourbon, from the smell of it—and kept the other for herself.
“Said I would.”
“I know.” She took a sip of her drink, and I watched the way her throat moved when she swallowed. “I just didn’t expect you to actually mean it.”
“I meant it.”
Something flickered in her eyes. Surprise, maybe. Or the beginning of trust.
“Thank you,” she said quietly. “For earlier. For going along with…whatever that was.”
“You don’t have to thank me.”
“I really do.” She traced the rim of her glass with one finger. “I’m not usually the kind of person who climbs onto strangers’ laps, in case you were wondering.”
“Didn’t think you were.”
“Good.” A small smile tugged at her lips. “Because I’m mortified. Truly. I’ve been replaying it in my head all night, and I still can’t believe I did that.”
“I’m not complaining.”
The smile grew, just a little. “No?”
“No.” I held her gaze, letting her see that I meant it. “Only complaint I have is that it took a crisis to get you to talk to me.”
She blinked. “We’ve talked before.”
“You’ve taken my drink order. That’s not the same thing.”
A flush crept up her cheeks, and damn if it wasn’t the prettiest thing I’d ever seen. “I didn’t think you wanted to talk. You always look so…” She searched for the word.
“Grumpy?”
“I was going to say intimidating.”
“Same thing.”
She laughed, and the sound hit me right in the chest—light and genuine, completely at odds with the fear I’d seen in her eyes earlier.
“So,” she said, leaning back in her chair. “You’ve been watching me for the past couple of weeks. What exactly have you learned?”
Shit. Had I been that obvious?
“I’ve learned you’re good at your job,” I said. “You remember everyone’s orders. You know when to make conversation and when to leave people alone. You’ve got this way of looking at people like you can see right through them.”
“That’s very observant.”
“I’m a firefighter. Observation keeps people alive.”
“Is that why you stayed tonight?” She tilted her head, studying me. “Some kind of protective instinct?”
I could have said yes. It would’ve been the easy answer—the one that let us both off the hook. Just a good Samaritan looking out for a woman in trouble. Nothing more.
But I’d never been good at easy.
“Partly,” I admitted. “But mostly I stayed because I wanted to.”
