Red Nights - Shari J. Ryan Page 0,23
your favorite meal. Chefs are supposed to have this high-class pallet thing going on. And you’re telling me you like mac and cheese?”
“Whatever,” I say. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. I make the best damn mac and cheese you’ll ever have.” The longer I’m around him, the more relaxed I feel. I feel more like me. The me I was two weeks ago.
“I’m going to hold you to that.” His hand drops onto my knee for a brief second. It’s a friendly gesture, but his touch does something to me. It drives this overwhelming sensation through me, making me want more of it.
I must look like a schoolgirl with a crush by the time we park downtown, wooing over his looks and the way his eyes curve into half moons when he smiles. I should at least try to keep the drooling to a minimum.
He jumps out of his truck and races around to my side, opening the door for me, offering his hand as I hop out. Knowing how I already feel, I’m guessing once I touch his hand, I’m not going to want to let go.
Not that it stops me.
I slip my fingers into his palm as he closes his hand around mine, engulfing me with his warmth. I am crushing hard on this guy and I still know almost nothing about him. Maybe this is exactly what I need. Mindless, gratifying, instant attraction. I mean, he’s the definition of stunning, and he could most definitely have any girl he wants, which brings me to the brink of confusion. Why me? It’s not like we first bonded over some mutual love of a hobby or were even set up by friends. Maybe I’m lame, but it could be some weird kind of fate.
I figured he’d release my hand once I was out of the truck, but he’s holding onto me even tighter now as we walk down the street toward a food van. He pulls his phone out and clicks on the display. “Right on time.” He winks at me. “But, I don’t think they have mac and cheese here, so will you settle for a dog?”
“What about our reservations?” I ask.
“I didn’t tell you it was for dinner,” he says, nudging his shoulder into mine.
I love that he isn’t taking me to some fancy restaurant. God knows I spend enough time in one. I stand on my toes, looking over the person’s shoulder in front me. “I want a hot dog with everything on it. And I mean everything.”
He looks down at me, his lips curled into a pleased grin. “Another point for you.”
We grab our food and cross the street where we descend a small set of stairs, ending up under a small walk-through tunnel overlooking the river. “Is this okay?”
I sit down first, dropping my legs over the side. “Perfect.”
By the time we finish our hot dogs, the horizon has swallowed every last hint of sunlight, bathing us in darkness that’s only slightly illuminated by the glow of the moon on the water. “Look over there,” he points toward the center of the river, where two people in a small boat ignite a floating basin.
I’ve lived in Rhode Island my entire life. I’ve heard of the Water Fires a thousand times, but I’ve never seen it in person.
Fire. They’re starting a fire.
The flames look the same. The smoke, it’s strangling me. I clamp my hands around my neck, my eyes wide and set on the growing flames.
Am I breathing? My lungs hurt…
Blake!
An arm encircles me, pulling me out of my haze. “Hey—are you okay?” I’m not in my house. I’m outside in the midst of a crowd. Water Fires, Providence’s pride and joy. Not my house. “You’re breathing really heavily and shaking. What’s going on?”
I have to tell him. I can’t keep it in any longer.
“My house burnt down,” I say in nothing but a breath. “Last week. My house burnt down. It was a huge fire.” I look at Hayes, finding concern in his darkening eyes. He’s nodding with what must be confusion, but unfortunately, there’s nothing to be confused about. Every single, simple word I said points to one very basic fact: my house burned down and almost took me with it.
“What happened?” he’s asking with caution as if his question might set me off. Which it might. I mean, I’m still trying to figure out the new me. “Were you hurt?”
I clamp my lips together, desperately trying not to break