Chapter Thirteen
Lia hurried back to her house, a little later than she’d planned. Gard was supposed to get here at five. A little early for dinner, but since Sammy would be dropped off back at his place around nine, they wanted time.
Alone time.
It was already four thirty and she still had to shower the bakery day off of her. Luckily, the roast and potatoes were already in the oven, and the green beans were in the Crock-Pot, but she still needed to bake the rolls—though they were all proofed and shaped and ready to go.
She threw them in the oven after the shower, then rushed back to her bathroom to dry her hair.
Gard liked it down. Which gave her a little thrill, admittedly.
She liked the way his eyes darkened when she left it down.
The way she’d find him staring at her intently.
Of course, he did that sometimes when her hair was up.
When they were at the bakery surrounded by people or in the dark making out in front of her car before she drove home from his house.
But there were no teenagers waiting for them tonight. At least, not until nine.
And who knew when that was likely to happen again, so she had to seize the day, the moment.
After she told him about her past.
And if that’s kind of a big, fat turnoff, Lia?
She didn’t have time to consider that because someone knocked on her door. Nerves jangling, she opened it to Gard standing on her porch.
Her heart just tripped over itself every time she saw him. She’d never had that feeling before. Maybe too mired in survival mode to notice anyone else, but more likely just…him. There couldn’t be too many guys like Gard.
He was dressed casually, and he’d gotten a haircut sometime since Wednesday when she’d seen him last. His blue eyes traveled over her quickly, and his mouth curved. “Hi.”
“Hi. Um, come in.” She moved out of the way, gestured him inside. He somehow looked taller in here—like all her stuff had been made for smaller people, when she wasn’t exactly short.
“Something smells amazing.”
“I hope it tastes as good as it smells. I don’t cook a lot since it’s just me and I bake all day.
The rolls, I can guarantee you, will be excellent.
” She didn’t feel nervous very often around Gard anymore but knowing that there was this…
other step they were dancing toward had her stomach absolutely jumping.
“It’s a nice place,” he said, following her deeper into the house.
The kitchen was separated from the dining room by a long counter.
She didn’t ever eat in her dining room, using it usually as more space to put things she was baking or experimenting with, but she’d set the table tonight so her and Gard could.
“I just have a few last touches for dinner.” She pulled the rolls out of the oven. “Did you get a lunch today?”
Sometimes he worked through lunch, usually when he forgot to make himself one in the morning because he was rushing around trying to get Sammy to school. She liked that she knew little details like that. It made her feel like a part of their lives even when she wasn’t there.
“Uh, no, I guess I didn’t,” he said. Distracted.
She looked at him over her shoulder. He was staring out the window in her dining room.
He had that pensive look on his face he usually only got when he was worried about Sammy.
Which she supposed made sense. The girls were at a movie without parental supervision tonight, even if the parents were giving rides.
She turned off the oven and crossed to him.
“Everything okay?” she asked, putting her hand on his back.
He turned into the touch, and she reached up to brush a hand over his hair. She liked the thickness of it, the different shades of blond. She liked feeling like she had a right to ask him if things were okay and touch him with reassurance that they would be.
He settled his hands on her waist. “Yeah, just…work stuff.”
“Can you not tell me about work stuff?” She’d understand if he couldn’t. Probably better than he could fathom.
“I can, I just… I don’t really want to think about it right now.” He pulled her closer, and his mouth curved. She could tell he was trying very hard to smile, so she leaned into him. The tall, strong wall of him and that intent way he had of looking at her. Flutters turned into full-on pangs.
The strong, sensual pull of desire mixed with something achy in her chest like wanting to fix everything in the world for him.
So she pushed onto her toes and pressed her mouth to his. Just a gentle, reassuring kiss before they sat down and ate, and talked. Because they really did need to talk. After she told him everything, he’d understand and…
But Gard’s hands tightened on her hips, and the soft, reassuring kiss turned into something…sharper. Needier. Which swept through her in an instant. That pull. This want they’d had to put on the back burner for Sammy.
A worthy cause, but not a necessary one in this moment.
“Can dinner keep?” he murmured against her mouth.
She nodded, wrapping her arms around his neck. Anything could keep.
Except this.
He lifted her off her feet, and she laughed breathlessly against his mouth at how easily he’d just hooked his arms under her butt and carried her deeper into her house.
It was a little thrill, how strong he was.
How easy it was for him to unerringly find her bedroom.
Carefully lay her down on her bed and then cover her entire body with his.
She sighed into the sturdy weight of him. Being horizontal was quite the improvement to all their very vertical kissing. Everything about this was an improvement.
The way he touched her. The way she could touch him—pulling off his shirt, smoothing her hands over the impressive muscles of his arms, his chest. His hands on her bare skin, unclasping her bra.
Losing pieces of clothing one by one until they moved together in one quiet rush and stilled…
like they both felt that reverberating gong of right. This, right here. Just…right.
Gard looked down at her, eyes blue and intense and…everything. He was so handsome. So good. She didn’t know how she’d stumbled into finding this, but it was everything.
His mouth touched hers again, gentle, drugging, meaningful. Then just like in the other room, it sharpened. Need. Urgency. Now.
Then the heady race over edge after edge, until Gard fell with her and they tangled up together on her bed. Gard held her close as they both struggled to catch their breath.
She realized, very belatedly, she hadn’t had a chance to tell him all the things she was supposed to.
Oh well. She snuggled closer into him, reveling in this closeness, this intimacy, in him.
She still would tell him everything. Over dinner. He’d tell her about work, and she’d tell him about her past and…
And if the moment felt right, maybe she’d even admit that her feelings for him were…probably a little deeper than he was ready for. Maybe.
She thought about the way he’d looked down at her. That intensity, but something more. That warmth, but something a little hesitant. Like he felt it too.
Maybe he did. He was holding her tight. He’d folded her into his life, but more than that, he’d let Sammy fold her into Sammy’s life. That meant something to a man like Gard.
Maybe…
The future was full of maybes, and for the first time in a long time, that felt like a gift instead of a curse.
Gard lay in Lia’s bed, holding her close. The pillow smelled like whatever her hair smelled like. Some kind of fruity shampoo he’d like to inhale forever.
Forever.
He’d never felt like this, and he knew what that meant. He had enough friends who were married to know that the path to that started with a woman who felt different than the ones who’d come before.
Lia just slotted into place, and even though it left him a little uneasy over how he was going to make that work—his profession wasn’t exactly an easy one to build a partnership around.
Add being the guardian to a surly teenager with some major baggage and there were likely to be all kinds of hurdles and pressures and struggles.
But he knew people who did it, who made relationships work and raised kids right along with it. He could make it work, even with a little bit of unease, because…
A life with Lia in it looked…a hell of a lot better than it had without.
Which meant he couldn’t chicken out of telling her that he was in love with her. And he wasn’t going to. He’d just had a bad day at work dealing with a particularly ugly domestic assault and thought maybe he’d wait until he felt a little less like there was no hope for humanity.
Then he’d walked into her house that had smelled amazing, and she’d looked so pretty and happy to see him, and she’d asked him what was wrong and he’d just…
He’d figured the talking part could come later. And it would. Because of course it was the right moment to tell her. She was always the right moment.
She slid away from him. “I better go make sure I didn’t leave any burners on. Don’t want to start any fires out of distraction.”
He let her get out of the bed, watched in appreciation for a moment or two while she pulled on her clothes before he followed suit. Yes, a good love declaration should probably include clothes. More serious, less heat of the moment. So she understood how…important it was. How weighty.
He’d managed to get his pants on, but before he’d pulled his shirt on, his phone chimed—the sound he had assigned only to Sammy’s contact number.
He swore under his breath. When it chimed again, he realized it was an incoming call, not just a text.
He couldn’t imagine why she’d call him while hanging out with her friends unless it was something bad.
He fumbled for the phone. “Sammy, what’s up?” he answered, trying to sound calm. “Everything okay?”
“Uh… Mr. Fairhurst. This is Sarabeth.”
His entire stomach plummeted.
“What’s wrong?”
“I don’t know.” And the normally confident, straightforward girl sounded scared. “We can’t find Sammy.”
For a quick, blinding moment there was nothing but abject terror. Then he felt Lia’s warm hand on his shoulder.
He pulled himself together. “What do you mean you can’t find her? Is the movie over?”
“No. She… She said she had to go to the bathroom. She left her purse with Izzy, and her phone was in it. But she never came back. It’s been like thirty minutes now.
We went looking for her, and we can’t find her.
She’s not in the bathroom. She’s not anywhere.
I called Henry. He’s coming. He told me to call you. ”
“I’m on my way. Just stay put, all right? Even when Henry gets there. Stay put until I get there, okay?”
“I don’t know where she would have gone. Not without her phone. Not by herself.”
“We’ll find out. Just sit tight. It’ll be all right.” He hung up the phone, shoved it in his pocket and then raked his fingers through his hair. “I have to go.”
“What is it, Gard? The girls can’t find Sammy? What does that mean?”
He told her exactly what Sarabeth had said while he pulled on his shirt then got his shoes back on. He headed for the door, brain swirling with worries and fears and too many terrible work stories to fight back. His only clear thought was he had to get to that movie theater.
When he opened her front door, he realized Lia was shoving her feet into shoes too and grabbing her purse.
“Lia—”
“I’m coming with,” she said, her tone brooking no room for argument.
But he wanted to argue with her. Even opened his mouth to. This was his responsibility, and he was failing Dani and Sammy again, and he didn’t need a spectator to pick up the pieces he’d broken.
Not your fault, he reminded himself, because self-flagellation didn’t save his sister or his niece. And neither did pushing Lia away, because he could see the worry in her expression and she… She loved Sammy too. This wasn’t just on him anymore.
And, more, she had more insight into Sammy, the teenager with a rough life. Maybe Lia would see something he didn’t. Sammy was always telling him his cop brain got in the way of being a real human.
“Make sure those burners are off,” he told her gruffly.
She nodded and hurried to the kitchen, then returned, keys hanging out of her hands. They walked outside, Lia locking her front door in quick efficient movements.
They got into his truck without saying anything, but once he’d backed out of her drive, Lia took his hand. She held his hand in a tight squeeze the entire drive to Fairmont.
He didn’t let himself think this was some kind of punishment for enjoying himself.
He’d save that for later.
Besides, it was just a mistake. A mix-up. He’d get there and Sammy would be…fine.
He told himself that the whole drive there.