his hand around to run my fingers over them.
How many people had he helped save with these hands? How many lives had he saved on his own?
“I just like you, Braxton.” I let the words spill from me and tightened my hand over his. “A lot. For just as long as you’ve wanted to ask me out.” My admission came out soft, almost too soft for him to hear, and when he slid his hand out from under mine, a moment of panic settled through me. It vanished when he curled his fingers through mine, holding onto me tightly.
“Yeah?” His voice was thick, as if he couldn’t believe I felt the same way.
I felt my face heat for the hundredth time tonight and nodded.
Dolly was back with the shakes, said a few more things to me that I didn’t hear because Braxton and I were still staring at each other so intently, and then we were left alone again. He gave my hand a squeeze, gave me a sincere smile I saw was full of… heat, and then we were digging into our food.
Despite what we just admitted to each other, the next hour passed by so seamlessly, so flawlessly, as we talked about everything and anything. I learned about his passion for being a firefighter, and just like I’d known, he was a hero. He wanted to help people above all else.
I told him about how it was just my father and me, how my mother passed away shortly after I’d been born, and how my dad had been so devastated he’d thrown himself into anything that could take his mind off his heartache. Even over two decades later, my father still had a broken heart. Then again, that's what true love did to a person. When they lost the one they cared about above all else, their world was dark and bleak and never the same.
I forgot we were in a crowded restaurant, because our conversation was intimate and perfect, and it was like Braxton only saw me. It was like his world revolved around me.
Once we were done eating, Braxton paid the bill, and we walked through the restaurant and out the front doors. I felt a tingle of awareness when he held the door open for me with one hand and placed his other on the small of my back. His palm was big and warm and reassuring, and I swallowed the sudden wave of desire that pushed everything else I felt aside.
We stopped by his truck, and like the gentleman he’d been all night, he opened the door for me and helped me inside, shutting it softly behind me and walking around the front before climbing in himself. My place was close to the restaurant, so the drive was—unfortunately—far too short. He pulled into the driveway and left the truck idling.
“Can I walk you to your front door?”
I didn’t want my smile to be so big, didn’t want him to know how much I liked him offering, but… too late. I looked like a damn fool for how wide my grin was. I got myself under control and nodded. “Yeah,” I said softly. “I’d like that, Braxton.” I’d like that probably more than is normal.
My hand went to the door handle, but the pointed glare he gave me had me chuckling and lifting my fingers away. I was all about female equality, but I’d be lying if I didn't admit letting Braxton take these liberties—being chivalrous—made me feel all kinds of special. I’d take this kind of attention from him all day, every day.
He helped me out of the passenger side, and before I could even take a step, he reached down and took my hand in his. Another jolt of electricity slammed into me, and I craned my head to look up at him from under my lashes. He was already watching me, this look of pure possessiveness on his face as he stared into my eyes. If he didn’t have a firm hold on my hand, I knew my knees would have buckled out from under me at how much I wanted to be his.
Once we reached the front door—which, once again, was too short a walk for my taste where spending time with Braxton was concerned—I turned and looked up at him. He still held my hand, and I liked the fact that he seemed to not be able to let go.
My heart was in my throat as I thought about him