His to Love (Fireside #1)

by Stacey Lynn

  “True. The reward might not be bigger than the risk.”

  I flashed her a look and whispered, “But I bet it’s big.”

  Her eyes widened at my joke, and then she smacked my hip with a towel. “Go on with you. Get out of here before I don’t know what to do with you anymore besides lock you in your room.”

  I backed up, putting up my hands palms out. “I’m gone, I’m gone.”

  “And go have fun. You’re young.” She shouted the last words just as I walked out of the kitchen and headed toward the front door. I shook my head again, thankful that even with the interruption from my dad and Malik that I got to spend the day with Clarissa. I hadn’t laughed so hard in a long time, and I couldn’t deny that her parting shot was absolutely true. I was still young. I should be out having fun.

  And there was only one person who I wanted to have fun with.

  My lips twisted as I realized how pathetic that was. Then I pushed that thought to the back because, despite the fact that I really wanted to hear from Tyson, I still had the business card from my dad. While I might not have wanted to use my family connection to get a job, I’d be a fool for dismissing an opportunity like this one. So at least something good had come out of my trip home.

  I was just pulling out of my parents’ driveway onto the main road when my phone began ringing from its place in the cup holder.

  Without looking, I grabbed it, unlocked it, and answered.

  “Hello?”

  I pulled over to the shoulder and grinned as soon as Tyson replied with, “On a scale of one to ten, how pissed are you that I haven’t called yet?”

  Zero. With that lead-in, I had no reason to be upset. I answered, “You can make it up to me by taking me to dinner tonight. That is, if you’re back in town.”

  “I am.” He sighed through the phone. “Do you know Latham Hills? I’ll be working late, but I can meet you there. I’ve got a buddy who owns the Fireside Grill and I have been meaning to check it out.”

  Latham Hills, exactly where I had an appointment for later in the week to go see an apartment. I grinned into the phone. “Sounds perfect. What time?”

  “Seven?”

  I nodded and my grin widened. “Perfect. See you then, Blackbird.”

  He chuckled at my use of his nickname. I felt that chuckle slide through me and down to my thighs. “Later, Bluejay.”

  He disconnected. I tossed the phone back into my cup holder. And then I pulled back onto the road and drove to my hotel with a smile so wide on my face that my cheeks started hurting. But I didn’t care.

  I didn’t stop smiling.

  —

  On the northern edge of Detroit, Latham Hills was once—decades ago—where the wealthiest of the wealthy created their homes in massive mansions and on abundances of acreage. When I was a child, my mother and father fought for months about moving to the Hills, as so many of her socialite friends had done, but my father refused to give up his ancestral home in Detroit. While I understood where he was coming from, I also understood the pull the area had on my mother. With its lush green lawns and room to roam, Latham Hills was probably the closest my mother ever thought she’d get to living back on a farm in Colorado.

  The few main streets the area had were paved in cobblestone. Peace and a sense of safety radiated off the pedestrians as they strolled along tree-lined sidewalks. Couples held hands, smiling lightly and freely, and younger parents pushed their children in jogging strollers, making it seem like enjoying the outdoors was a way of life.

  It felt so different in the city, just fifteen minutes away, where the area hadn’t yet fully recovered from the recent economic collapse and so many people were still struggling. Young people were leaving in droves, and crime was on the rise. By the looks of what I saw in Latham Hills, they had made their way north to boutiques, local restaurants, coffee shops, and consignment stores, making the area more chic and trendy now.

  I didn’t see a single franchise while I drove through the small downtown area, looking for a parking spot. I had fallen in love before I even saw the red awning with The Fireside Grill printed plainly and boldly in black text, decorated with two small flames.

  After parking, I scanned the area and took in the freshness and vitality of everything I saw. Inhaling deeply, I savored the freshest air I’d breathed since leaving Colorado. It seemed as if Latham Hills had a bubble around its borders that protected it from the harshness of the city.

  The short walk back to Fireside Grill was wonderful; it was the best I’d felt in over a week.

  Because of that, my smile was wide and easy when I pulled open the door to the restaurant.

  The reason for the name was obvious as I entered the restaurant: the outside looked like a renovated old-fashioned firehouse with Engine Co. 1 etched into the cream cement blocks above the outside awning. But it was the inside that made me gasp.

  All along the rich, dark wooden walls of the entire restaurant were various types of firefighter equipment. It wasn’t done in a trashy man-cave sort of way, but more like it was meant to preserve the history of the building that used to claim this corner restaurant as home. Vintage firefighter axes and hoses, suits and helmets, and countless photos of groups of men—who I assumed were former Company One firefighters—decorated the expanse of the walls and tables. Interspersed among the history, including photos from the black-and-white photography era and rich and professional looking digital photos, were dozens of televisions. They showed a range of sporting events, from football to baseball and even hockey although it was still the off-season. But Michiganders loved their hockey. I wasn’t surprised at all to see ESPN Classics replaying a Stanley Cup Final from what looked to have been the mid-eighties on several of the large screens.

  The entire restaurant held an inviting and warm atmosphere for families and friends to gather around the tables and booths and share a meal, but it was also a fun and entertaining place to go to watch a good ball game.

  “Can I help you?”

  I smiled at the hostess, Emily—based on her nametag—and quickly took in her easy appearance. Black polo shirt with Fireside Grill emblazoned over the right side of her chest, screen-printed with small flames, and simple jeans made her seem as casual and comfortable as the rest of the area. The whole atmosphere made me envision girls’ night out with not-yet-made friends and drinks after work. I smiled politely. “I’m meeting someone, but I don’t think he’s here yet.”

  She reached for two menus. “You must be Blue.”

  I jerked my head back in surprise.

  She simply waved for me to follow her. “Tyson told me to expect you. He’s in the back right now speaking with Declan, but he told me to seat you as soon as you arrived and then let him know you’re here.”

  I followed her quick steps and slid into a booth, taking the side that would give me the best view of the restaurant. She set the menus on the table. Her hand brushed along the edge and with her same easy and tender smile, she nodded again. “I’ll go let him know. Would you like some water?”

  “Yes. Please. And thank you.”

  I didn’t reach for the menu right away, and instead continued to take in the restaurant with a slow, lazy perusal. Something about this place made my heart beat slower than it had in days. It felt as if the entryway into this dark but warm sports bar had the ability to melt away the stress of everyday life with a simple step inside.

  I had relaxed further into my seat and opened the menu when two metal doors to what I assumed led to the kitchen swung open. Tyson stepped through and I watched him take a quick look around the open area, before heading directly toward me. Behind him, another man followed at a slower pace. I quickly noted that the other man was wearing a slightly stained apron over a plain black T-shirt that was bursting at the seams around his biceps, and well-worn jeans frayed at the knees. But it was his slightly tanned, olive-toned skin, shaved head, and deep dark eyes that almost made me want to kneel in his presence.

  He was massive. I
f this man didn’t meet the definition of tall, dark, and dangerous, no one would.

  “You made it,” Tyson said, his deep voice pulling my gaze away from the man behind him.

  I stood from the booth and worried my bottom lip with my teeth. “I did.”

  He wrapped his arm around my waist and pulled me to him. I melted into his embrace when his lips brushed against my temple before he set me back. I was still a bit woozy from the kiss and his touch and the smell of him when he gestured to the big man behind him.

  “Blue, I’d like you meet Declan. He was on the football team with me at Central U.”

  I caught a glint of something in his eyes. Then the dark look quickly disappeared and Declan stepped forward with one hand held toward me.

  “Declan James. Nice to meet you.”

  I shook his large hand and returned his smile. “Blue Galecki.”

  “Declan owns Fireside,” Tyson reminded me. “Opened it just over three years ago.”

  “I love it. It’s beautiful and perfect.”

  Declan’s expression dimmed at my review, and I wondered if I’d said the wrong thing. Perhaps men who looked like they could lift cars with their bare hands and eat bolts for breakfast didn’t appreciate the word beautiful being used to describe something.

  “I should get back to it,” he said, his voice now abrupt. “It was nice to meet you, Blue. Dinner tonight is on the house.”

  “Dec—,” Tyson started, but Declan interrupted him.

  “Shut the hell up, Ty. What good is owning a place if I can’t do a favor for friends?”

  A silent conversation flashed in their eyes before I stepped in. “Thank you, that’s very kind.”

  Next to me, Tyson relaxed and gave in, ending an unspoken argument from becoming a spoken one.

  Declan grinned, a mouth full of perfectly straight teeth flashed as he nodded and began to turn away. “Like this one, Ty. She listens.”

  I snorted. Hardly. I didn’t have time to debunk that myth before his back was to us, and instead of the slow jaunt he’d made into the restaurant, he hurried back to the kitchen.

  “He’s having a hard time,” Tyson said, tugging my hand and refocusing my attention on him.

  “With what?”

  He shook his head and gestured for me to sit. I slid into the booth and instead of sitting across from me, Tyson followed me.

  “Expecting company?” I asked, gesturing with a nod toward the other side.

  “No. But I missed you and want to be close to you.”

  Warmth suffused my insides at his direct and honest admission.

  “Well then,” I huffed lightly, and slid both menus in front of us, “who am I to argue with that?”

  Tyson chuckled and scanned his own menu.

  When the server, Tara, appeared, we quickly placed our order, me ordering a steak quesadilla and margarita because Tara promised me it was the best in the state. Tyson ordered a buffalo cheeseburger that sounded incredible, but how could it not when the first thing in the description was “piled high with massive amounts of bacon and fried onions.”

  Once our orders were placed, and I was served a margarita almost the size of my head, I found Tara had been truthful. The margarita was delicious. The perfect balance of sour and sweet.

  Tyson took a sip of his Shock Top ale and put it back on the table before turning to me in the booth.

  “I did miss you,” he repeated, his voice soft and husky.

  I swallowed slowly, emotion quickly clogging my throat. I couldn’t tell by his soft expression if he meant the last decade, or the last week. I decided not to ask and leaned in when the backs of his fingers dragged seductively across my cheekbone. He turned his hand, cupping my jaw in his large and warm palm.

  Before I could stop myself, I whispered, “I missed you, too.”

  And I knew without a doubt, that I meant absolutely all of it.

  Chapter 10

  My belly was stuffed full of delicious quesadilla and I was only slightly tipsy from the margarita. I pushed my plate away, blowing breath out through my cheeks, hoping it would allow more room in my stomach.

  I should have worn yoga pants.

  Tyson and I had eaten and laughed. We talked about nothing and everything and my cheeks ached from all the smiling I did over the last hour. The years apart hadn’t seemed to change anything in regard to how I felt about him. With Tyson sitting across from me, both of us slightly turned so we faced each other in the booth, I still felt the same familiar thrill course through my body whenever his fingers grazed my skin—accidental or otherwise.

  “You haven’t talked much about your job,” I said and took a sip of my ice water. That margarita was delicious, but I forced myself to stop after one.

  “There isn’t much to say.”

  “What type of law do you practice?”

  He hesitated. I barely caught it, but when he chewed the inside of his cheek before answering, I felt my back straighten as I pulled back from him.

  “My grandfather does mostly general practice. A little bit of everything, really. Mostly estate planning.”

  Given the clientele in Latham Hills, it made sense. Most of them would need estate-planning lawyers. But that wasn’t what had him suddenly peeling at the corner of the label on the bottle of beer. “What aren’t you telling me, Tyson?”

  I tried not to be distracted when he brought his bottle to his lips and swallowed. It was the second time he hesitated to answer my questions, and I felt my hackles rise.

  “I specialized in criminal law,” he finally said, his voice low.

  “And?” Based on his anger at my father and what Tyson believed my father did to Tyson’s dad, criminal law seemed like something he’d naturally fall into. He always was a protector. And a fighter.

  “That’s not a problem? That my job is to prosecute criminals?”

  I sucked in a breath and leaned farther back until I was leaning against the wood wall behind me. “Wow.” I sighed and my eyes grew large. “I’m not my father, Tyson.”

  Silence permeated the small space between us. The earlier ease of the conversation evaporated and I shook my head, blowing out a slow breath.

  “What are we doing?” I asked, my voice suddenly dry and barely above a whisper. I reached for my water only to realize my hands were trembling. I swallowed thickly, emotion clogging my throat at the thought.

  Tyson leaned forward and set his hand over mine on the table. Squeezing, he said, “I haven’t stopped thinking about you since I saw you on that plane. I want to give this—give us—a shot now that we found each other again. But…you know who your dad is, Blue.”

  As if I needed the reminder. I’d lived it every day of my life. Hated it for as long as I could understand. But his reminder stung deep. Like he was giving me a choice between him and my family. I didn’t like the feeling of an ultimatum. But I really liked hearing him telling me he wanted us to be together.

  Just not like that.

  “And?” The back of my eyes began to sting. “Will you ever see me separate from him?”

  His chin dipped and his voice deepened. “Being with me means understanding that I’m not and will never be on his side.”

  I shifted in my seat, wishing I could slide right off the bench and out the front door. This night had taken an unexpected, unwelcome turn.

  Licking my lips, I could barely whisper, “I guess I was hoping you’d be on my side.” I pulled my lips to the side and inhaled, fighting the tears that were still burning my eyes. I couldn’t even tell you why. It seemed something wonderful was happening, but it also happened to be mixed with something horrible.

  “I am.” His hand slid along my cheek until it curved around the back of my neck. He turned me toward him and with seriousness in his eyes, he repeated, “I am. I’ve always been on your side, Blue. Always.”

  “I understand,” I murmured, leaning toward the loose grip he had on me. I pressed my lips to his palm, keeping my eyes on him. “But I still don
’t see why my father is an issue right now, Tyson. Not with your work.”

  His hand on my cheek flinched, and he looked away. “It’s not, now,” Tyson muttered. “It’s just that we grew up in families on opposite sides of the law. I don’t want to be separated again because of it.”

  My heart ached. I didn’t agree with my father or his business. I would never fully understand the crime world he ruled. But I was taught loyalty. Family first, above all else. I also hated what my family stood for and had learned long ago that finding my own way, being my own person, was the only way I was ever going to be truly happy. For me, I wanted that to include Tyson.

  “It won’t.” I shook my head and squeezed his thigh to get his attention. “It won’t. Not again.”

  He leaned forward, pulling me to him until our lips pressed together and his tongue slid across mine. Then, he deepened the kiss in a way that alluded to what he wanted. I mewled against his mouth. Acquiescing.

  I wanted him.

  “Come home with me,” he said, breaking our kiss and running his nose along the side of mine. Delicious shivers trembled down my spine as I opened my eyes and peered into his.

  I nodded once, unable to speak.

  Tyson’s grin was reward enough, the heat in his gaze unnecessary, yet welcomed. I wanted to get lost in the rich blue eyes that were only focused on me. He slid out of the booth and extended his hand. I gingerly placed my hand in his as we headed out of the restaurant.

  “Where’s your car?” I asked, looking along the street.

  “I walked.”

  “You live around here?”

  “About two blocks away. Should we take your car? I don’t want to leave it here overnight.”

  Overnight. I couldn’t help the grin that stretched my lips.

  “A forgone conclusion, am I?”

  Tyson’s answering chuckle made my stomach flip. “Just consider me hopeful.”

  “Well, Mr. Hopeful.” I pulled my keys out of my small clutch and spun them in the air. “How about you take the wheel, then?”

  —