Page 100 of When Hearts Ignite

The prickle behind my eyes becomes a burn and I let out a wobbly smile. “We’re a team.”

A vein pulses on his forehead, his intense gaze boring into mine, telling me everything he’s not saying.

A vow. A command. A wish all twisted together.

“We’re a team,” he murmurs, his voice thick as his nostrils flare.

Just then, a waiter comes by and pours water into our glasses, breaking the spell.

Steven hands me the plate he prepared and I take my first bite of the steak, which melts in my mouth in a swirling pool of savory flavors. I moan with pleasure. My mind flits back to his look of horror when he ate the first bite of his hot dog at Central Park and I giggle.

“What are you thinking about?” Another arch of his brow, his eyes twinkling with amusement.

“The hot dog.”

He groans dramatically and I laugh. He shakes his head. “Now you understand why that hot dog was torture for me. This,” he points to the dishes on our table, “this is what food should be.”

I dig into the buttery lobster, which tastes so fresh it feels like it was just caught moments ago, and I nod my head. This food is unparalleled. The Michelin stars make sense.

After swallowing, I murmur, “Life is full of different flavors. You need to taste the bitter to enjoy the sweet, experience sadness to enjoy happiness.” I quirk a brow. “Taste a stale hot dog to enjoy a scrumptious surf and turf.”

He laughs softly. “One thing I love about you is your ability to see the bright side of everything. Even in the harshest situations.”

Taking my hand in his, the touch sending a jolt of awareness through me, he whispers, “You’re amazing, Grace, and I thank the stars for bringing you to my side.”

My face heats as I dip my head down, bubbles prickling my spine and I feel like I can fly and be the fish that joins the swan in the beautiful blue skies.

With him looking at me with so much love in his eyes, I feel everything is possible.

Dinner is filled with laughter and seriousness as we trade stories of our childhoods and I tell him I nearly burned down the kitchen one time when I tried to cook dinner for Mom’s birthday back when I was ten. I shed a few tears when I tell him stories of Mom, how she was the most loving person I’d ever met, how her heart was always filled with kindness. How I wish she could’ve met him, how elated she would be now that I finally opened my heart up to love.

I tell him about the men in our past, how Carl beat mom to a pulp, how sleazeballs would leer at us and try to take advantage of us when they thought they could get away with it. I watch his eyes burn with anger, his jaw clenching, fists gripping the tablecloth like he wants to stand up and take on the world for me. Then, his stiff posture softens when I tell him how I ended some of these behaviors with a hard kick to the balls. I tell him how I ended up hiding my appearance, and dressed in baggy clothes to avoid more spotlight as I grew up.

“You’re beautiful, Grace, no matter what you wear. You can’t hide a soul. Back then, when you were in clothes I thought were from your grandmother’s closet, I still couldn’t resist looking at you whenever I passed by. It doesn’t matter to me if you want to wear baggy shirts or curve-hugging dresses, not that I would ever complain. You’re beautiful to me because of what’s inside you and that brilliant mind of yours.” Steven marvels as he lifts my hand up to his lips and presses a soft kiss there.

My lungs seize and I dole out a wobbly smile, a current of warmth unique to him swirling within me like a warm breeze on a summer night. And in this moment, I definitely feel like I can fly and soar in the skies.

“Steven, I—”

“Steven Kingsley!” a feminine voice hisses behind me as I watch Steven straighten up, his jaw clenching.

“Mother.”

Steven dips his head into a curt nod and arches his brow. A chill sweeps in, hardening his eyes, and I fight the urge to tremble from the hard edge of his voice.

My fingers move to disentangle from his, but he only grips me harder, then ups the stakes by intertwining them and holding them up for all to see.

My heart can’t help but burst at his show of possession. Yet another example that Steven is the person for me.

He isn’t like the other men in my life. He’s not like Mom’s asshole exes. He’s proud to have me by his side. I’m not a fling, a secret, but someone he deems worthy to stand next to him.

We’re a team.

I exhale, my lungs finally drawing in air as I turn my head toward an elegant woman, dressed in a couture dress suit with her neck and ears adorned with pearls, her black hair swept up in a twist. Steven’s mother is beautiful, her skin is smooth and pale—I can see where Steven got his inky hair and elegant brows from.

But her eyes are hard, her face ashen, a flitter of panic bursting in those dark brown irises as she looks at me for the first time. She swallows and sways, her fingers grip the table to keep herself upright.

I stand—it seems to be the right thing to do—and extend my free hand. “Hello Mrs. Kingsley, I’m Grace.”

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