I stare at him, mind still swirling with too many thoughts. “You don’t regret this?” I ask.
He stops, setting his fork down. “No. Why would I?”
“Because I lied to you. I lied about everything.”
“Youhadto,” he reminds.
“But did I?”
“You were compelled by the U.S. Marshals to lie. To be somebody else. That’s more of an excuse than most people ever have.”
It comes out like it’s decided. I have the impression he could let it go at that.
Would he be able to let me go just as easily?
Chapter
Eleven
SCARLETT
Donovan doesn’t clear the plates right away. Instead, he watches me finish, a hint of satisfaction behind his gaze.
“That’ll do?” he finally asks gruffly.
It reminds me of the high school gymnasium with its gaudy strung lights. Dallas, the rodeo announcer-turned-auctioneer with too much bling and bravado, and the handsome man who first strode my way ask that same question.
I laugh. “You know that’s the first thing you ever said to me,” I say, shaking my head. I bite my bottom lip, my breath coming faster now. “Yes, you do… more than you could ever know.”
He nods once, slowly, like he’s still measuring something in his head. Trying to figure things out. I can’t blame him. “Then, you called me too tall, and I called you short.”
“A regular gentleman,” I huff a laugh.
“Didn’t know what else to say to you,” he confesses, cheeks warming. “You had my insides all knotted.”
“Like a stomach ache?” I ask, concern threading my voice.
“Like butterflies.”
The world narrows to our heated gaze.
I clear my throat, trying to pull myself together. “Thank you,” I add. “For the best night of my life, too.”
His gaze sizzles. “Doesn’t have to be once.”
My vision blurs. I haven’t let myself think like this in too long.
“And you didn’t do anything wrong. From what you’ve told me,” he reaches across the table, his fingers lightly brushing over my skin. “You were a hero, Marielle. Standing up for a little girl when no one else could.”
I let out a sob, bringing my hand to my mouth to hold back the next one. “I tried… I wish I had done better. But I tried.”
“That’s all we can do sometimes.” His voice drifts off for a long moment. When his eyes find my gaze again, he admits, “I’ve lost people on rescues. It’s only happened a couple of times. But afterwards, I racked my brains for days, weeks, months… Hell, sometimes I still do, trying to figure out what I didn’t do enough of, or what I did too much of. Or why it had to happen at all.”
My head darts up, voice hopeful. “And have you ever figured out why?”
“Yeah,” he murmurs. “That’s the devil’s bargain of trying to help others. You never know the outcome. Or how fate will see things. But you still have to try… when others won’t.”
His hand leaves mine, and he stands gathering plates. In the kitchen, he rinses them and puts them in the dishwasher. I should help. Politeness nudges, but between the wild night, the hangover, the break-in, and now this… confiding in someone for the first time in twelve months, I can’t make my feet move.
