Page 99 of When Hearts Ignite

The agony in my chest deepens and I want to travel back in time to when Steven was a little boy and punch his father in the face.

“What about your mom?”

Steven chuckles mirthlessly. “My mother is a tortured soul. She hides her hurt behind controlling behaviors and outward appearances because I think her heart got broken by my father and this was her way of keeping everyone together. If we were all perfect children—the right clothes, friends, schools, grades—Father wouldn’t leave us. Maybe his heart was with someone else, but his body would be here.”

I walk out of my seat, not caring I’m in public, and crawl on his lap and curl my arms around his neck. He dips down and clutches me to him, his body trembling. My chest spasms in pain at the little boy who got his world torn apart, who suddenly realized his father wasn’t the person he thought he was.

The feeling of not being enough. Of not being loved.

Tears slide down my cheeks. I may not have met my father, but at least I had the love of my mom, who never let us feel anything less than.

“You are enough, Steven. You are so worthy of love, you incredible man,” I whisper against his lapels.

Placing my hand over his heart, I can feel the reassuring thumping underneath his dress shirt. “This heart, even without money, successes, or fine things, is special, is one of a kind. Your parents are blind if they don’t see that.”

I lift my head up, my cheeks grazing his chest, and I find his teary gaze on mine. I whisper, “And I see you, Steven Kingsley. I’d love you even without your success, without your money, even if we were to live in the South Bronx in an apartment with gangs loitering outside and we have to eat stale hot dogs for the rest of our lives.”

His lips twitch into a smile as I continue, “I’d love you even then. Because you are a good man and just you alone burn brighter than any wishing star in the sky.”

His lips part, and I feel a shudder roll through his tense frame. “Grace,” he rasps before he dips his head down and claims my lips in front of everyone.

I hear the furtive whispers, sense the pointed stares, but everything quickly fades away as the world becomes just the two of us, my mouth breathing life into his, his lips sending love to my veins, our body heat keeping each other safe and warm. My heart clenches and flies, my soul soaring into the night skies and I feel a rightness burrowing deep inside me.

This is perfection. Even if I don’t find the identity of my father, even if what I learn will disappoint me, it doesn’t matter anymore, as long as Steven is by my side.

For the first time in my life, I feel whole. There’s no aching darkness in my chest. I don’t need to hide or pretend. I can just be myself, and I know that’ll be enough for this man in my arms.

And I can do the same for him.

A weariness snakes through me and when I look up, I see the same in his eyes. A cathartic release of emotions would do that to you, and God knows how long those wounds have festered inside him.

I only wish he’d heal one day, even if it means I have to kiss him and whisper I love you a thousand times every day, I’d do it, just to chase the darkness away from his eyes. Slowly, I disentangle from him, straighten my navy dress, and walk back to my side of the table.

A waiter appears from nowhere and pulls my chair out for me as I take a seat. Then seconds later, platters of food mysteriously appear on the table, everything served in a quiet, efficient manner by men in crisp tuxedos and perfectly slicked back hair.

My eyes widen, my mouth dropping open at the array of food in front of me. The earlier melancholia fades to the background as I’m hit with a barrage of fragrant aromas and artfully arranged dishes—food porn at its best.

There’s lobster with grilled herbs and drawn butter, rib-eye steak which smells rich and fragrant, a pesto pasta sprinkled with what looks to be slices of truffles on top, and the artisan breadbasket, the perfectly cut, fluffy rolls, golden brown baguettes, slices of thick focaccia, strips of salt-flaked pretzel sticks. If I weren’t in love with this man already, this meal would do it.

“The breadbasket,” I gasp in awe.

Steven chuckles, the heaviness dissipating from his frame. “Of course, of all things you focus on, you’d focus on the least expensive item on the table.”

He bites his bottom lip. “I want to put that expression on your face every day. You’ll never want for anything anymore. You deserve to be pampered like the queen you are.”

I smile as we dig into the food. Growing up, we never had opportunities for fine dining with our limited budget. A hot dog at Central Park was perfectly acceptable. I look at the man before me, who is carefully slicing the steak and lobster and putting them on a plate for me, so I could no doubt try everything on the table, and I feel my breath lodging in my throat.

How did I get so lucky?

He sneaks a glance at me, finding me staring at him, and the boyish grin appears on his face again. His eyes no longer look sunken, the dark circles have faded significantly, and he is sporting a five o’clock shadow, something I don’t usually see on him. But he looks radiant. Happy.

“I want to put that expression on your face every day too,” I whisper.

His hands freeze and his piercing hazel eyes meet mine. He swallows and rasps, “I feel like I can breathe when you are by my side.”

We stare at each other in silence, with the soft melodies of the harp playing in the background and quiet chattering from other patrons in the restaurant as accompaniment. My lips part and I feel an intense tugging inside me, drawing me to him, like even the distance of this table between us is too far apart.

He has become my falcon, my protector, his presence above the waters letting me swim freely near him. Two people who shouldn’t have gotten together yet somehow did. Two magnets made whole.

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