“I never thought to try it,” I admitted, chewing thoughtfully. “But now I might make grilled cheese sandwiches this way all the time.”
We were seated at the coffee table, on the floor. He’d given me the side with the sofa so I could lean back against it. He probably thought I was still recovering, and maybe I was. Waking up to see that gorgeous face looking down at me had done wonders to sober me up. I sure felt less inebriated now.
“I didn’t even know cheese was in there,” I said. “I bought the bread and jelly, along with my favorite kind of coffee. I guess I shouldn’t have assumed food delivery is an option here.”
He shrugged. “It’s an option. I’ve never tried it, though. But with the storm, it’s probably for the best. There might be downed power lines. Or trees on the road.”
I paused with my tumbler full of water midway to my mouth. “If that’s the case, don’t you have to go?”
“That’s what this is for.” He patted the two-way radio on his hip. It was hanging at a weird angle because he was seated on the floor. “I’m expecting a call any second telling me to get my ass back down the mountain. But right now, I’m going to just enjoy this sandwich.”
As if to demonstrate, he took another generous bite. God, he was hot. I’d never seen a guy this good-looking. Not in real life. Maybe not even on TV. I couldn’t think of anyone.
But bigger than that was the way he made me feel when he looked at me. He looked at me like he saw something more. Not just a woman who drank too much and called the fire station by mistake. Not a stranded city girl playing mountain cabin for the weekend.
No, when he looked at me, it felt like he was seeing me. Every inch. Every layer. Every part I usually kept buried.
I shifted against the couch, letting the warmth of the grilled cheese and the weight of his attention settle over me like a blanket. “Thanks again for checking on me. I know it wasn’t a real emergency.”
His voice was gentle. “It could’ve been.”
“But it wasn’t.”
“You didn’t know that when you passed out.”
I smiled faintly. “Still, you didn’t have to come. But I’m glad you did.”
He met my eyes across the coffee table. “So am I.”
The air between us changed. It wasn’t subtle. Not in the way his gaze dropped to my mouth. Not in the way mine drifted down the strong line of his forearms, the veins and tendons and corded strength just beneath the surface. Not in the way my stomach flipped, slow and low and hungry for something more than grilled cheese.
“Can I ask you something?” he said.
I nodded.
“What made tonight the night you decided to try drinking?”
I exhaled through my nose, sitting back a little deeper against the couch. “You really want the full story?”
“Only if you want to tell me.”
“I do,” I said before I could second-guess it. “I think I do.”
The storm rumbled again outside, a soft roll of thunder in the distance. I wrapped both hands around my water glass and stared into it.
“I grew up in Greensboro,” I said. “North Carolina. We were right in the middle of suburbia. Picture-perfect lawn in a gated community. We double-bolted our front door, even though the biggest threat on our street was a raccoon knocking over the trash cans.”
He leaned in slightly, listening.
“My parents…” I shook my head. “They were really strict. I mean really strict. Church twice a week. No sleepovers. No school dances. No dating. No social media until college, and even then, it had to be private.”
“Damn,” he murmured.
“Yeah. They always said it was for my safety. That there were predators around every corner. That the world was dangerous, and I needed to be vigilant. They didn’t let me walk to school, even though it was three blocks away. Didn’t let me ride a bike unless they were trailing me in the car.”
“Sounds exhausting,” he said.
“It was. And isolating. I had to lie just to hang out with a friend after school. And don’t even get me started on prom. I didn’t go. Not even senior year.”
