Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 74730 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 74730 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 374(@200wpm)___ 299(@250wpm)___ 249(@300wpm)
“I’m sure you tried. That matters.” After glancing up at the back stairs, he returned my shoulder bump, leaning in long enough to give me a most unexpected kiss on the temple. “Kids like Wren and the others here, they’ve been through a lot already. Foster kids often get so used to missing things that they get almost numb. It’s a good sign they’re opening up.”
“Is that how it was for you? Numb?” I kept my voice casual but curious. Denver didn’t often talk about his childhood, which was understandable, but I was hungry for any and all details about the man.
“Pretty much.” He shrugged, setting aside the dressing to toss the salad ingredients with tongs. “A lot of moving from place to place. I was an angry kid, not exactly easy to place. Didn’t care for rules and liked to push against them. I learned quickly not to get my hopes up with each new home, not to want too much. Easier to not care. If you don’t care, it can’t hurt.”
There was a message in his tone, a warning of sorts. He wanted me to think he didn’t care, couldn’t care. But he did. I saw it in every interaction tonight, in each kiss and touch, in the way he listened and the questions he asked. The real warning was in how easy it would be to bruise the heart he kept so carefully hidden.
“I’m sorry.” I touched his upper arm, where his sleeve met his meaty biceps. “You—and all kids in the system—deserve better. But caring doesn’t always mean hurt and disappointment.”
Denver’s mouth pursed. “Like I said, some things become habits.”
“Well, I’m here, and I care.” My heart thumped against my ribs. Maybe if I said the words first, he could relax a little, but instead, his expression merely shifted from doubtful to sad.
“I know you do.”
I glanced over at the stairs. The kids would be down any second. “On a happier note, the annual firefighter pancake breakfast is coming up. Think you could forgo a little Saturday sleep for a good cause?”
“Are you asking me out?” Denver’s eyebrows knit together, dark eyes suspicious.
“Well, my dad put me in charge of bacon. I’m not sure that’s wise. I could use an assistant.”
“Ah. Not a date.” Denver smiled, way more relieved than I liked. “You need a sous chef.”
“It could be both a date and help.” I didn’t see what was so scary about dating, especially since tonight was going so well.
“With your dad there?”
Ah. Yeah. There was that. It was one thing for Wren and John to know and another entirely for my family and coworkers to meet Denver as my date. I inhaled sharply and let the breath out slowly. I could do this. “I’m going to come out. Eventually. Went okay with the kids tonight, right?”
Denver shook his head with something approaching pity in his eyes. “Sean—”
“Just say you’ll come. Friends. Date. Whatever. I want you there.”
Denver squished his eyes shut. Opened them. “I’ll be there.”
He sounded like he’d rather face a firing squad, but I’d take his agreement, especially since all three kids chose that moment to come clattering down the stairs. Denver had said yes. That was what mattered, not what label we gave the thing. And for all his warnings and worries over being unreliable, I knew I could count on him. I only wished Denver could trust himself the way I trusted him.
Chapter Eighteen
Denver
I was lost. Well, not literally. It was hard to get truly lost in Mount Hope. And while large, the downtown city park along the riverfront was hardly Central Park. I knew where I was headed: the annual firefighter pancake breakfast. Not only were the large white tents impossible to miss, but all the emergency vehicles lined up along the front of the parking lot were a clear giveaway that I was in the right place.
No, I was lost because I had no idea why I’d agreed to come. Friends. Sous chef. Random supportive citizen. None of those were accurate. Neither was date. Sean said he was going to come out, emphasis on going. Not out presently, and seeing as how his father was holding court at the front of the first tent, surrounded by his wife, the mayor, her wife, and other Mount Hope movers and shakers, I hardly expected Sean to grab my hand and make a round of introductions.
And I was also lost because I couldn’t find Sean. The advantage of being a professional nomad was that by belonging nowhere, I generally fit in everywhere, from concerts to dive bars, border towns to big cities. I wasn’t used to feeling out of place anywhere, but here, among all these clean-cut first responders, I felt decidedly worn and grubby. And no way was I asking anyone for help locating Sean, but I finally found him over by a portable upright oven.