“I’ve said it about a hundred times tonight,” he rasps, his eyes searching mine again. “But thank you, for this. For stepping in to help her in a way that I can’t.” He exhales, those blue eyes showing the ache that he lives with. It breaks my heart. He reaches for me, and I step closer, letting him pull me in. In a moment of raw vulnerability, this man whispers against my forehead, “This… this scares me. A lot. For me, for my girls… What if you decide you don’t want this and walk away from them, from us?”
Leaning against his chest in the quiet shadow of the hallway, I whisper back, “Locked in, remember?”
Those arms I’ve come to love so much wrap around me, and he presses his cheek to the top of my head. “Locked in, Princess.”
God, the way my heart hopes that he means it.
Thirty-Three
Louise
What does one wear to a chili cook-off fundraiser at a fire station?
My bedroom looks like my closet and dresser threw up.
Clothes litter my bed, the chair in the corner, and the floor, and I’m no closer to choosing an outfit than I was an hour ago.
Nothing fits right. Nothing says ‘I’m the kind-of-not-quite-girlfriend of the still married, not-yet-divorced assistant chief of the local fire department’.
Fuck my life.
Is this a bad idea?
Meeting his family was one thing. In a closed environment. Away from public scrutiny and judgmental eyes.
This… this isinpublic. Like, people willsee us. Together.
My family doesn’t even know about him, yet. Not really, anyway. Not that we’ve taken things to the next level.
Whatever that is.
Willow is… cautiously optimistic. She still thinks I should re-commit to my no-man hiatus, but says as long as I’m taking things slow… she’s happy that I’m happy.
And I am happy.
Zach makes me happy.
Stupidly, incandescently happy.
It all feels a little too good to be true. Like I’m somehow still waiting for that other shoe to drop, waiting for the day that he disappears like all the rest. Justpoof, gone.
But… I don’t see Zach doing that. He’s different. Steady. Intentional in everything that he does. He’s locked in. Just like I am.
Maybe it’s the age difference, I wonder, then laugh out loud. I’ve never dated a man this much older. My grumpy old man.
As far as mid-October weather goes in northern Michigan, today is mild. The sun is shining, but the temperature is just chilly enough to warrant a warm sweater. Eyeing my over-the-knee brown suede boots, I chew on my lip, then nod. I want Zach’s attention.
I’d purchased the viral fleece lined leggings that look like real skin tone beneath darker tights, so I pull those up over my legs first. Next, a black and floral-patterned mini skirt in a flowy cut, paired with a chunky knit, cropped sweater in a burnt orange that matches the flowers in the skirt. The tall suede boots form to my calves and cut just above my knee, leaving six inches of ‘bare’ skin between the top of the boot and the hem of the skirt.
Blowing my hair out and curling it had taken over an hour, but Zach has never seen my hair down and actually styled—otherthan wet straight out of a shower—and I’m hoping to surprise him with something a little different, today.
Willow and Liv are meeting me there, and Liv is bringing her two kids, at Zach’s insistence. Lydia has Zach’s girls this morning while he is at the station helping set up, and will be meeting us there, as well. According to Zach, Chief Jensen has a soft spot for kids—something about wanting grandkids that he says he’ll never get from his daughter, Scarlett—and always makes sure there are kid friendly activities at all their functions and fundraisers.
Standing in front of the tall mirror hanging on the back of my bedroom door, I twist this way and that, making sure my flesh-toned leggings aren’t bunched at the back of my knees, and doublechecking that my skirt isn’t showing off my ass. Running a hairbrush through my hair one more time, the curls soften and fall down to my waist in waves. I throw a small, crossbody purse in a brown leather the same shade as my boots over my shoulder, touch up my mascara one more time, and then I’m out the door.
Finding parking along one of the nearby streets, I make the short walk toward the station, following the other foot traffic.
The street that runs in front of the fire department is blocked off with orange street barriers, stopping traffic from either direction. There are firefighters standing at either entrance to the street, taking entry fees—ten dollars for unlimited chili, soda, and coffee,what a steal—and donations to the fire department.
