Donovan’s hand closes gently but firmly around my arm. It’s enough to bring me to a stop.
I turn, faster than I mean to. “Don’t.” The word comes out sharper than intended.
His brow pulls down slightly, but he doesn’t let go. “Talk to me,” he says.
I shake my head, immediately scanning the street without meaning to. Faces blur past. Tourists. Couples. No one looking at me.
No one’s watching. That doesn’t mean anything. Because after the clerk’s question, I still feel like all eyes are on me.
“She recognized me,” I say under my breath.
“Said you looked familiar is all,” he answers calmly.
“You didn’t see her face.”
“I saw yours.”
That stops me. I drag in a breath, forcing myself to look at him.
Unlike me, the towering cowboy fireman remains a force to be reckoned with. He’s grounded and solid. Like nothing in the world could shake him.
“You keep saying I don’t understand. But I could,” he says, eyes shadowed beneath his Stetson. “If you’d start talking and start trusting me.”
Trust. That’s something I can’t even entertain. I pull my arm free, wrapping it around myself. “Sorry to cut this short, but we need to leave.” My voice comes out steady, but it doesn’t feel that way.
“Okay but only if you start talking.” His eyes drop to the papers in my hand. “And if you don’t, I’m not signing anything.”
I blink at him. “What?”
“You have a lot of explaining to do. Between what you said about your name… your reaction to that woman. Even last night, when you said you needed to feel safe. I’m not walking away without some answers, and a guarantee that you’re safe.”
Safe. There it is. The man he is. It touches a place deep inside me that wants to believe in him and things like this. I open mymouth, then close it again. Because I don’t know what to say or where to start.
I didn’t expect pushback from him. Or the need for answers. Not out of curiosity or to be in control or intrusive. No, this feels like he genuinely cares. Something I haven’t felt since everything fell apart.
I press my fingers to my temples. I’m still struggling to string two thoughts together.
“I’ll tell you everything. But only after we get back to Sacramento.”
His jaw tightens, and he nods once. “We should go back to the hotel room, then. Change our flights,” he says. “Soonest out.”
My chest tightens. Even though I need to go home, there’s a resistance, too. Like going back confirms I can’t run from my past no matter how hard I try.
His gaze flicks up to mine. “I want to help you, Scarlett. That’s all.”
There it is. The firefighter in him. The man who rushes into burning buildings to save people. “But I don’t want to involve you, make this any harder?—”
“Doesn’t have to be any harder than we make it, right?” he asks.
I swallow. “But you’re missing the point. This isn’t your problem. I’m not your problem.”
His jaw tightens. “No, you’re not. You’re the best night I’ve had in recent memory. Not gonna walk away from that like it’s nothing.”
“Donovan,” I say carefully.
His expression shifts—just slightly—going softer. “Yeah?”
“You deserve better than this. Than me.” The words scrape on the way out as if I don’t believe them. Maybe I want him to argue.
