Disappointed, he nods. I have to pull myself together before we talk again. Sort out this tug-of-war going on in my heart. But even before that, I need to find Gran decent food to eat and then a seat where she can hang out with her friends.
“Oh, look, Cat, they have a dance floor,” Gran points out as we head for a line of food vendors. “You and Ambrose should dance later.”
“Ever the matchmaker.” I sigh, though I’d be lying if I said I didn’t appreciate her suggestion. But dancing with him, melting into his arms, would feel like slipping straight into everything I want … and the inevitability of loss.
Gran taps her chin with exaggerated thoughtfulness. “Barbecue ribs, chili … or maybe I should go straight for a turkey leg. Nothing says romance like watching your date gnaw on a drumstick.”
I snort, nearly choking on air. “Gran!”
Her laughter twinkles, light and mischievous. For a moment, the weight on my chest eases.
“No, I have a better idea. Let’s skip straight to dessert tonight. Ferdinand would approve.”
I chuckle sadly. “Yes, Grandpa would … That narrows our choices down to fudge, ice cream, pies, funnel cakes, cotton candy, caramel apples, popcorn balls?—”
“Funnel cakes sound amazing.”
“Agreed.” I lead her toward the line, craning my neck in search of nearby seating. I don’t want her standing too long.
“He’s still watching you,” Gran observes with a wicked grin.
When I turn towards the fire department booth, Ambrose’s intense gaze slams into me, and he winks. It’s a delicious and wholly unprecedented feeling to watch so many gorgeous women vying for that man’s attention, and, as Gran says, he really only sees me.Oh, why does he have to make this so hard?
I smooth my hair primly, pushing my glasses back up my nose, and his eyes darken. He looks ravenous. Shivers of desire tickle up and down my spine, settling at the top of my legs.
“I wish I were a better dancer,” I confess, turning away to look at Gran. “Not that he’s asked me or anything. But if he does …” The corners of my mouth drop.
“You always danced beautifully with Grandpa,” Gran counters.
“Yes, but he was a fantastic lead. He made it easy.”
“That’s what the right man does.”
“You keep saying that,” I scold. “Therightman. But the right man doesn’t run into burning buildings every other night. Rightdoesn’t leave you wondering if today is the day he doesn’t come back?—”
Panic hits like a rogue wave.
Gran’s face goes pale, the blush on her cheeks vanishing. I reach out to grab her arm as she crumples, only getting a hold of her shirt. My knees nearly buckle as her blouse sleeve slips through my fingers. Time folds in on itself—the Harvest Festival, Grandpa’s still chest, all of it crashing back in one horrifying instant.
My throat chokes off, and I can’t think, a deer in the headlights. Kneeling next to her, I palm her cheek. The crowd blurs. All I see is Gran’s papery skin under my palm and the desperate rise and fall of her chest.
I can’t repeat what happened to Grandpa with Gran. I need her in my life. The little two-person family we’ve built since his death, the only thing centering me.
“Marguerite,” a familiar voice rumbles. Without hesitation, Ambrose kneels on Grandma’s other side, steady and calm, his deep voice cutting through my panic like a lifeline. She answers quietly, eyes locked on him as though he’s the only thing anchoring her.
Looking at me with piercing brown eyes, he finally concludes, “She seems stable, but we should get her checked out at the hospital to be on the safe side. I’ll drive.”
The big man sweeps Gran into his arms as the backs of my eyes sting. Small crowds gather as we walk, faces somber. A few of Gran’s friends grab my hand as we pass, begging me for updates as soon as we know what’s going on.
As we near the row of fire department trucks parked in the lot, Gran wraps her arm around Ambrose’s neck. Face dazed and eyes brimming with tears, she says, “Ferdinand, mon amour, you came back for me …”
Ambrose’s eyes flicker to mine, dark with emotion, before turning his gaze back on Grandma. “Always, sweetheart,” he gently murmurs.
Ophir City Hospitalworks rapidly to get us into the ER, providing a private room, where we wait for the doctor. I don’t know if the rapid response has more to do with Gran’s condition or the fact Ambrose is so well acquainted with the staff as a first responder and paramedic.
I notice a couple of nurses attempting to flirt with him as they bustle around Gran’s bed, starting an IV and running tests. He remains oblivious … but God help me, it still burns to see them try.
They lean in, their smiles too bright, too practiced. And he doesn’t even notice.
