“Look, I know you’re trying to help and all, but I’m fine. Really. I don’t need looking after.”
“Well, I do,” he said, dismissing her words with a crooked grin. “I’m starving, which is why I’m off to ransack your kitchen.”
A half hour later, Christy-Lynn padded back down the hall in a robe and a pair of slouchy socks. Wade had set up a pair of trays in the living room and was carrying two plates heaped with scrambled eggs and toast from the kitchen. He’d even made two mugs of tea. Her throat tightened absurdly at the sight. She couldn’t remember the last time someone had fixed her scrambled eggs. Or anything really.
“You didn’t have to do this,” she told him, feeling self-conscious. “I know you think I’m this big helpless mess, but I’ve actually been taking care of myself for a long time.”
“Yes. Too long, as a matter of fact.” Wade dropped down onto the couch and picked up his fork. “And I don’t think you’re helpless. But it’s okay to let someone help you once in a while. Now eat. I tried to find a chick flick, but at this time of night, it’s either the late-night shows or infomercials.”
“Thanks. I think I’d just as soon have the quiet.”
They ate in silence, Tolstoy purring contentedly between them on the couch. After the turmoil of the day, it felt slightly surreal to be doing something as mundane as eating eggs in her living room. She stole a glance at Wade, absently munching his toast, and thought about the way he had threatened to expose Ray if he so much as blinked in Iris’s direction. She had never believed in white knights, but at that moment, Wade had become one. Tomorrow she would have to call Rhetta and make her understand the impossibility of what she was asking, but for now, it was enough to simply eat her eggs and not think about tomorrow.
When she had eaten her fill, she carried the dishes to the kitchen, then returned to fold up the trays. Wade lay slumped against the arm of the couch, head lolled back against the cushions. She stood looking at him, taking him in detail by detail, the slow rise and fall of his chest, the dusky stubble shadowing his jawline, the way the tiny lines around his eyes went smooth when his face was relaxed.
As if he could feel her there, his eyes opened, heavy lidded and golden. He said nothing as he looked at her. Neither did she, pinned by his gaze and the unsettling whirl of emotions that suddenly crept over her: warmth, gratitude—and trust. It was unfamiliar ground for her, and yet it couldn’t be denied. Somehow, while she wasn’t paying attention, this man had become part of her life, her safe port in a storm.
“Thank you,” she whispered, easing down beside him. “I don’t know what I would have done without you today. Or through any of this really. I’ve never been good at letting people in, but somehow you’re here, and I’m glad.”
“I’m glad too.”
She didn’t resist this time when Wade reached for her hand and turned it palm up. She watched as he traced a finger over the trio of small scars then softly touched his lips to them.
“I’m sorry you’ve been through so much, but I’m glad you felt you could share it with me. In case no one’s ever told you, you’re quite remarkable.”
The words had a strange effect on Christy-Lynn, as if some invisible lock somewhere had suddenly sprung open, a sense of letting go, in this moment at least, of the fears that had kept her in check until now. But then there had always been an inevitability to this moment, a bone-deep knowing that there would come a time when what lay between them would be forever changed.
She groped for something to say, for some quick words to fill up the moment, to check the reckless direction of her thoughts. When she couldn’t think of anything, she kissed him, tentatively at first, and then more deeply, unspooling all the pent-up emotions of the day. He felt warm and solid, safe. It was a heady mix—and a frightening one. And yet she felt herself yielding to it, reaching for the thing she’d been holding at bay for so long.
It was Wade who broke away, an abrupt severing that left Christy-Lynn feeling suddenly unmoored. She stared at him, dazed. “What . . .”
“This is a bad idea, Christy-Lynn,” he said evenly, holding her at arm’s length.
“Why?”
“Because you’re tired and you’re emotional. And because I’m afraid you’re confusing gratitude with something else right now.”
“I’m not.”
“I think you are. You might not remember, but the last time we went down this particular road, you made it abundantly clear that you weren’t ready. And I made it clear that I don’t want to be the guy who takes advantage of a friend. I don’t think either of those things have changed, do you?”
“I don’t know,” she said softly. “I wish I did. But I know I want to be with you tonight.”
“Christy-Lynn . . .”
“Stay.”
“I shouldn’t.”
She leaned in, past the wavering defense of his outstretched arm, and gently grazed his lips. “Please.”
With that simple word, all Wade’s reservations seemed to fall away. His arm went round her, pulling her tight against him, his mouth moist and hungry as it closed over hers. After a moment, he pulled back, breath coming hard as he probed her gaze one last time. “You’re sure?”