Page 33 of Austin

I lean down to remove my shoes, handing them one at a time to him. “Fine, but I go after you. No looking up my skirt.”

I glare at him, making sure he knows I mean business, and damn it, it makes him laugh again.

He begins his ascent with my shoes in hand, and I follow behind him. I can’t help but wonder how it’s possible that this man keeps getting me out of my comfort zone. Every time I’m with him, I’m doing things that would normally terrify me—driving in race cars, stepping up to take on an investigative journalism assignment, climbing a ladder to my possible death …

He stops, and I hear him fiddling with the lock of a hatch on the ceiling. Once it pops open, he swings it up, and I hear it slam against the roof.

Light floods the area around us, and I feel a swoosh of cool air swirl down. He continues his climb, and within a few more rungs, I’m making my way over a railing and stepping onto a gravel roof.

After handing me back my shoes, he waits as I slide them back on. His hand reaches for mine, and he walks me to a corner of the building.

“What is this?” I ask as we approach an outdoor living room set under a fabric portico.

The drapery is swaying in the gentle breeze that we’re awarded with from being this high up. Under the portico is a curved couch with cushions plusher than my bed, which wraps around a gas-lit firepit, next to an inviting chaise lounge that I’d love to take a nap on. Several accent tables and plants are placed around, including some candles enclosed in glass lanterns of various sizes. The only thing that’s missing is a cocktail bar, and then this would officially be a nicer setup than I’d ever seen on any vacation I’d been on.

“Want a drink?” he asks as he reaches under the seats and slides out a drawer that’s actually a mini fridge.

“You have got to be kidding me.”

“What? I have water in here if you don’t want alcohol. I mean, you are on the clock.” He playfully tilts his head.

I point toward the water and catch it when he throws it to me. Untwisting the cap, I take a sip and walk around the furnished area that sits on the center of the large rooftop. There are sand-colored rocks on the floor, which looks to be imported, and a black rail around the perimeter of the building. Up here, we have a three-hundred-sixty-degree view of San Francisco, and it’s breathtaking.

“How in the world did you get this up here?” I ask, noting there is only that one ladder as a point of entry.

“Come on, I’m a Sexton. I want it, I make it happen.” He takes a seat on the sofa and crosses his feet on the wide edge of the firepit.

“It’s just that easy, huh? You snap your fingers, and people run?”

“Well, no, it’s not that easy. I make sure I pay them well first.”

I place my water on the table and take a seat on the chaise, opposite of where he is.

“It’s like that, huh? You pick the farthest chair away from me?”

I give a nod while taking him in. The slight breeze is ruffling through his light-brown hair, making the perfectly styled do become messy, more like the way it is when he’s racing cars. He’s looking out at the city’s skyline. I do the same and take in the scene. Even though we’re twenty-three floors up, there are still skyscrapers all around us, and the view is different than one I’ve ever seen. There’s something so freeing and peaceful being away from the hustle and bustle of the city below us.

It’s silent up here. We’re the only two people at the top of the world, yet we have nothing to say to one another. All we need is to exist in the fog and breeze and try to keep it from carrying us away. Resting my head against the back of the chair, I can’t deny that it’s a comfortable silence. Still, it has me wondering …

“So, why did you bring me up here?” I ask after a few minutes of silence between us.

“To call a truce.” He lowers his legs to the ground, so he’s now sitting straight up. He pauses for a moment before stating, “I was wrong, and I’m not too proud to say when I’ve made a mistake.”

An apology from him is not something I was prepared for.

“I was wrong, too. I had you pegged as this egomaniac who has little regard for anyone’s feelings.”

He lets out a laugh. “No. You’re right about that.”

I’m not laughing. “You’re a decent guy, Austin.”

“Why would you say that?”

Why would I say that? It’s something that’s been sitting with me for days. A connection I feel to him despite wanting to run the other way.

“The way you spoke out about your mother, defending her to Missy.” I look away and swallow down the emotions threatening to creep up into my eyes. “I lost my mom when I was a child. I know how hard it is to grow up without one.”

When I turn my head toward him, it’s to see his serious gaze and nod of understanding.