“Hello?” I call out, unsure as ever about what I’m doing here. Above me, I hear a noise. I look up and see my angel on top of the nearest fire truck. So, he’s real after all. He smiles when he sees me, and I can’t help but notice the dimple that shows up on his right cheek.
“Hi,” begins Ethan with that adorable smile, “To what do I owe this honor?”
His voice is exactly how I remember it, complete with that irresistible southern accent. Damn, I’m in big trouble. “Um, hi,” I begin, unsure. “Is that really you, Ethan?”
He nods his head, the smile still all over his face. “One sec, I’ll come down there. Just let me clean up a bit up here from working on the exhaust pipe.” He disappears for a few minutes while I hear clanking and clattering from above. I take the extra time to look around the firehouse. There is a distinct smell of sweat and leather in the air. It’s a strange mixture but not altogether unpleasant.
The walls are adorned with safety signs and instructional posters, nothing out of the ordinary for a firehouse. I move along the wall towards the office that sits in the corner, and I see his picture beneath the ‘Fireman of the Month’ sign. There’s that cute dimple again. It’s almost as if it taunts me. I need to get ahold of myself. He’s just a man, albeit a gorgeous man with a gallant nature, who likes to save damsels in distress but a man nonetheless. I take a closer look at the picture. He’s in the usual firefighter outfit that fits him so snuggly you can see the bulging of his muscles through his shirt. His wavy blonde hair is combed nicely and his blue eyes sparkle. It’s clear from his expression that he’s proud.
“I really don’t like that picture,” a deep voice says from behind me. Startled, I gasp and turn around almost bumping into Ethan. He’s right behind me, looking at the same fireman-of-the-month picture.
“Oh?” I say unceremoniously. Seriously? Oh? That’s all I’ve got? I may not be the most debonair woman on earth but I’m sure I can do a hell of a lot better than oh. I take a couple of steps back to distance myself from him and regain some semblance of a brain. What is it about this man that makes me so unsteady? I’ve always felt more comfortable around old buildings than people, but my dad taught me to mingle with the rich and powerful and I do it well. But for some reason, I’ve always had some trouble with this man in particular.
I take a deep, steadying breath and get on with what I came here to do. “So I didn’t imagine you? You were the one that saved me from a fire down on Main Street a few days ago?” I ask as I try not to stare into those beautiful blue eyes.
“Guilty as charged,” he returns, smiling. The years have been kind to him, he’s cuter than ever. I smile back, an involuntary reaction around someone so charming and obviously happy with this life. A small part of me envies him for his freedom. Before I get lost again in self-pity, I squash the feeling down and continue with the conversation.
“Well, I wanted to thank you for saving my life.”
“You’re welcome. But honestly, it’s part of my job,” he states nonchalantly. It’s obvious he isn’t comfortable with being the hero or being given gratitude.
“Your job, huh?” I ask a bit miffed. “Well, even if it is your job, I wouldn’t be here without you. I wanted to come by personally and offer my gratitude and a donation to your station.”
“Thank you but that isn’t necessary.”
“Nonsense, Ethan. I want to.” I’m determined to get this chore done before I make a complete fool of myself over a man I haven’t seen in a decade.
Ethan looks at me pensively. “Then our chief will be very happy for extra money for supplies around here,” he says, again deflecting the attention off himself. For a moment, I’m lost in those blue eyes as he stares at me. He rubs his hands together with a white cloth to remove the stains from working on the truck. It’s unsettling, but I can’t seem to break his gaze. For what seems like forever, we just stand there regarding each other. I have no idea how much time has passed, just that I have no will or reason to care. The spell isn’t broken until we hear someone cough politely beside us. Startled, I turn and see another firefighter in the doorway that leads to the front. He’s dressed in full gear and covered in soot.
“Um, am I interrupting something? A standoff perhaps? Cause I’ve been standing here for a good minute and ya’ll haven’t said a word to each other. I wouldn’t bother you, but I kind of need to get by so I can head to the locker room and take off my gear.”
Embarrassed to the core at being caught gawking, I look only at the ground as I back away to give the man room to pass. He mumbles a thank you before he bolts past us and disappears behind the fire truck that Ethan worked on just a short time ago.
“Well, thanks again for ... everything, and please give this to your chief for me,” I manage to stammer through as I shove the check into his hand. I made it out to the local firefighter’s foundation in honor of Ethan at Station 21. As I turn to leave and walk briskly down the hall, I grip my handbag, wishing it were Ethan’s neck for embarrassing me. I’m absolutely positive this was the worst idea ever—to come here and seek out the man I knew and loved long ago. Who cares if he did give me a second chance at life? It isn’t worth the vulnerability I feel. It seems that second chance was just something I made up in my own mind. I guess the smoke did more than just hurt my voice; it took my common sense, as well.
I walk fast on my heels, doing my best to get out of here without a full out run. As I near the front door, a strong arm gently grabs me from behind and effectively stops me in my tracks. But it honestly wasn’t necessary. His next words would have stopped me cold anyway.
“But just so you know, even if it wasn’t my job, I still would have risked everything and gone in that burning building to save you. And it would be my honor if you would have dinner with me Friday night,” he asks sheepishly. His eyes are downcast as he shuffles on his feet as if expecting a quick denial.
“No, Ethan,” I begin and his entire body tenses, preparing for what he believes is coming. The moment before I tell him that I can’t because I have a fiancée. But I realize I don’t really want to say no. In fact, every fiber of my being is screaming yes. “The honor would be all mine.” And just like that, the walls I’ve built around my heart begin to melt.
Chapter Five
~ Flames Abound ~
I spent most of the week in a guilt-ridden daze after seeing Ethan at the fire station. It’s now Friday night and I’m standing in the middle of my huge walk in closet, looking at every dress I own. I wonder which color a cheating fiancée wears? I try to tell myself that it’s only dinner; it doesn’t mean anything. But if that were correct, I wouldn’t have hidden it from Steve. Despite my misgivings, here I stand still sifting through my closet for the perfect dress to don for dinner, with a man I can’t seem to get out of my head.
Behind me, my phone buzzes. I walk over to the bed. It’s from Steve, hoping that I’m rested and feeling better. I shoot off a quick text back, knowing he only checks in because he feels he has to, not because he really wants to be here with me. Friday nights are sacred for him since he takes time off to go out with his buddies. I don’t blame him really; he works very hard and deserves a break. It’s just that I wish I were more of a central part of his life rather than an afterthought. I learned long ago that money can make you comfortable, but it always comes at a price. A price that was long ago paid for me and without my consent.
I walk around my closet, touching the different gowns I own. There is one for just about every occasion a rich girl from old Atlanta money would need: ball gowns, summer dresses, long winter garments, elegant evening wear and everyday dresses made from the finest materials around the world. Names like Prada, Guess, Versace and Gucci are the only acceptable items to wear in my world. And none of it is good for an evening with my savior. It all screams of money and a life that I don’t want to rub in Ethan’s face. None of it seems right for a date to say thanks for saving a life. Then I spot the perfect dress hiding behind the Versace I wo
re to the Gala last week. It’s a simple, yellow dress with quarter-length sleeves that hug my every curve. I chose this one specifically since it only goes down to my knees. Add my six-inch high heels and voilà ... my insanely long legs, which my father demands I always hide, are highlighted. Well, not tonight, dear father.
I leave my long brown hair down and finish it off with silver jewelry and high heels. I look at myself in the full-length mirror. I’m pleased to see that I look normal, not overly and obnoxiously rich. I try so hard to have my own life that doesn’t mix with my Dad’s. Tonight is no different.
I check the time on my phone as I head out; I have a half hour to get to the restaurant downtown where I’m meeting Ethan. He wanted to come to my house to pick me up but I insisted we meet at the restaurant. I was pleasantly surprised that Ethan chose Fogo de Chao in Buckhead. It’s popular, here in Atlanta, yet not too expensive. I hop in my blue Infiniti and start the trek down 85, battling traffic and my nerves. The closer I get to the restaurant, the greater the feeling to turn the car around and run. Yet, I stay the course; the guilt may guide my thoughts but my heart is guiding the car.
I pull into the parking lot and see Ethan waiting for me by the front door. I park and he’s instantly there to open my door and extend his hand to help me out of the car. I smile as I take it, giddy over the gentlemanly gesture.
“Well hello, Ms. Anna Claire Hopkins. You look beautiful,” he says before moving my hand towards his lips for a light kiss.
My heart skips a beat the moment his warm lips touch my hand. A jolt of electricity runs through me. I feel like a teenager again. I wish I knew how this man manages to make me feel this way. It isn’t as if I’ve never played this game. In fact, I’ve played it a bit too often with men who bathe in money and crave the excitement. I’ve been a conquest and had my fair share of meaningless relationships but this is different. There’s something in those blue eyes that I can’t seem to resist. And it scares the hell out of me.
I break away from his gaze and busy myself with smoothing out my dress. I close the door and lock my car, happy to have something so normal to concentrate on. Anything to take my mind off the blue-eyed angel bound and determined to charm me to death tonight. At some point, I’ll have to tell him about Steve, and I dread every second of it. We make our way into Fogo de Chao and get seated rather quickly. Ever the gentleman, he pulls out the chair for me and makes sure I’m comfortable before he sits down across from me. We are in a secluded spot with candles illuminating the darkness around us. Servers quickly see to our drinks before they quietly and succinctly disappear back into the depths of darkness where they won’t be a distraction. It’s all like a romantic movie and I wonder exactly what lengths he went to in order to make this all happen. Does he know who I really am? That I’m engaged? I wonder if I should go ahead and tell him about Steve? I hesitate, not wanting to ruin our night before it even begins. So, I’ll delude myself as much as possible until the thought goes away. Unable to avoid his gaze any longer, I look up and stare straight into those beautiful blue eyes.
“Are you done avoiding me now?” he asks, smirking.
“Was it that obvious?” I ask, laughing, grateful to move past the darkness lurking in my thoughts.
“Only to the untrained eye,” he teases. “We firemen are trained to know when someone is avoiding us. It makes it easier when we have to hose them down.”
I laugh loudly, happy to be past the awkward part of the night. “Do you have to do that often then?”
“Only when they misbehave.”
I chuckle and instantly relax; the euphoria of being myself around someone engulfs me. With Ethan, I don’t have to be proper or be careful with what I say. I can just be me.
“Well then, I’ll be sure to behave myself. I’d hate for you to have to hose me down during such a lovely dinner. I prefer other forms of liquid. Like maybe a dirty martini?”
“Nice choice, Anna Claire,” says Ethan approvingly as he flags down the waiter and orders for us. While he’s occupied with the waiter, I take a moment to look at him. He’s wearing a dark blue polo that brings out the blue in his eyes and matching khakis. The shirt isn’t too tight but snug enough to see that he’s well cut and full of muscle. I imagine running my hand up and down his chest, wondering what those muscles would feel like beneath my fingertips. I look up at his clean-shaven face and notice how his short wavy hair falls just right to accentuate his features. He’s gorgeous. Dammit, I’m in so much trouble.
All too soon, his attention is back on me and I’m caught staring again. This time he calls me out on it. “What?” he asks, clearly wondering what I was thinking.
“Sorry, nothing.” I grab the menu nearby and bury my blush within its folds. No way in hell I’m telling him that I just imagined him half naked. “So, what are you ordering?” I ask, hoping to change the subject.
“This is a Brazilian restaurant which means any meat they serve is amazing. You can’t go wrong with any of it.”
Oh shit, I think as I look up from my menu. “Um, I guess this isn’t a good time to tell you that I’m a vegetarian?”
His mouth drops open and the color drains from his face. “I’m so sorry,” he stammers, unsure what else to say.
“I’m just messing with you. I still love steak!” I tease as I playfully hit him with the menu across his shoulder. He visibly relaxes and smiles at me. Not just any smile, but a grin mixed with a dash of ‘color him impressed’.
Our drinks make it to the table and I drink the martini heartily, letting the cool saltiness of the olives mixed with vodka wash over me. I can’t remember the last time I’ve felt more relaxed.
“So, tell me,” he begins, “what were you doing in that old building downtown? I thought it was abandoned.”
Finally, a safe topic I can talk about all night. “I’m an architect now. A friend of my father’s bought that building and asked me to reinvent it. I was down there with my team, making sure all was well before the renovations began tomorrow. I was dealing with one of my worthless interns when I saw the smoke. I have no idea what started it, but the flames blocked our only exit. I didn’t panic until I realized every door was locked. It was only then that I understood I was going to know what it feels like to be a turkey on Thanksgiving.”
Ethan laughs—a very masculine sound that makes my heart jump a little. Suddenly, memories flood back into my mind. His laugh always drew me to him as a teenager. Coming from a home with little to no laughter, it was comforting and contagious. Even back then, he had one hell of a funny personality. I assume it only got better.
“Well, as it turns out, a stinky man with a tobacco problem was the reason a simple trip turned into an inferno. Well, at least it makes for a good story,” he adds.
“My cheating death is a good story? What kind of television shows do you watch Ethan, where that is a good story?”
“Oh, you know, the kind where somebody dies at the beginning and it’s up to a select intelligent few to solve the mystery. Those are the stories that keep me alive, that make me want to keep saving people despite the misery and heartbreak I see daily.”
The smile fades from my face. “I’m so sorry, I should have known.”
Ethan smiles. “It’s not a bad thing, Anna Claire. I get to save people; make a difference in a life. Kind of like I did for you when I pulled you out of that burning building. That’s what makes the job worth it. Even on those days when I’m too late.” We look at each other. I have no idea what to say. Luckily, he does. “But luckily, I wasn’t too late on your day. I was able to get to you before the fire did and I count that as a win.” Ethan picks up his drink and holds it up for a toast. “To a win,” he states, his tone solemn as his eyes pierce mine. What is it that he’s trying to see?
“To a win,” I repeat with a smile, genuinely proud of the work he does.
Soon after the food comes, and we eat heartily from all the different meats and sides that the Brazilian steakhouse offers. We chat abou
t our work and our lives but noticeably avoid the past we left behind a decade ago. So many times, it’s on the tip of my tongue to ask him why he left ten years ago, but my pride won’t let me.
We finish our dessert of Papaya Cream and pay the bill, but we weren’t quite ready to leave. We sit comfortable in the silence and occasional comment as we drink our wine. We talk about anything and everything in life. Ethan didn’t once take out his phone during dinner or make me feel like there was somewhere more important he needed to be. Though I know I shouldn’t compare him to Steve, it still felt nice to be noticed. Part of me never wants this night to end. I look up from my wine glass, mentally hitting myself for comparing the two men and notice that Ethan is staring at me.
“What?” I ask, my mind buzzing with questions and alcohol.
“I didn’t think it was possible, but you got even more beautiful with time.”
Uncomfortable with the turn of events, I drink my wine and say nothing. I don’t want to be coy; I simply I have nothing to say. Apparently, my silence is Ethan’s cue to continue.
“I mean it, Anna Claire, you’re stunning.”
“Thank you,” I say more out of courtesy than flattery. I don’t trust myself to say anything more.
“I’m sorry that made you uncomfortable. I didn’t mean to make you feel that way.”
“I’m not uncomfortable,” I respond, though it couldn’t be further from the truth. There was only one other time a man called me stunning. It’s very disconcerting to hear the same man say it again now. It makes me wonder what he’s up to, and if all of this romance was simply a ruse. Immediately, my distrust he earned all those years ago comes back up to the surface full force.
“Okay then, why are your cheeks all flushed now? You seem mad that I called you stunning. Most women would like that.”
“The last time you called me stunning, you were running full force out of my life.” Stunned by my ire, Ethan couldn’t do anything but sit there open mouthed.
Propose To Me Page 8
