Page 42 of Breaking Through

"Gran used to say the only thing tea promoted was a good excuse to sit down and think."

"Exactly." Parker's eyes twinkled as he pushed a plate toward me. "And when was Isabella Harlow ever wrong about taking time to consider things properly?"

***

Mom's newfound support and Parker's meticulous planning carried me through the afternoon with a lighter, happier step. As the light shifted from afternoon gold to evening blue, my thoughts turned to Wade.

When I found him in his cabin's kitchen, he stood frozen before his Chicago Fire Department uniform, laid out on the table like one of Gran's unfinished paintings. The dress blues looked almost black in the fading light, gold buttons catching the lamp's glow.

"I haven't worn it since—" His voice caught. "It might not even fit anymore."

I moved behind him, wrapping my arms around his waist. "Then we'll get it altered, or you can wear something else. No one's going to care about the uniform. They're interested in the man inside it."

He leaned back against me, some of the tension leaving his shoulders. "You're really coming?"

"Try to stop me." I pressed my lips to the spot where his neck met his shoulder. "Parker and Cole are taking the Grandpa shift. Mom's supporting the idea. I think the apocalypse might be imminent."

A rough laugh escaped him. "The world must be ending if Margaret Harlow admitted she was wrong about something."

"Hey, that's my mother you're talking about." I smiled against his skin. "Even if you're absolutely right."

He turned in my arms. "I'm not good at accepting help."

"Really? I hadn't noticed."

The snarky comment earned me a gentle hip check. "Smart ass."

"You love it."

The word slipped out before I could catch it. We had yet to use the four-letter word around each other. Fortunately, insteadof tensing up or pulling away, Wade tightened his hands on my waist.

"Yeah, I do."

The kitchen suddenly shrank around us to a tremendously intimate space. I started to speak, but he pressed a finger to my lips.

"Let me finish my thought." Wade's voice was rough but steady. "I'm not good at accepting help. I'm worse at accepting..." He swallowed hard. "Accepting love. But you make me want to try."

I kissed his fingertip, then gently moved his hand. "Good thing I'm persistent."

"Stubborn is the word Tom uses."

"Tom needs to stop gossiping with Sarah." I nodded toward his dress uniform. "Want to try it on? I promise not to take pictures."

He snorted. "Like you could resist using that second set of eyes."

"Hey, I only document beautiful things."

"Holden..." The tone was a warning shot, but I pressed on.

"You are, you know. That first day on the beach, I instantly knew you were the most handsome man I'd ever seen." I traced the line of his jaw. "You look even better when you're being grumpy about compliments."

He caught my hand, kissing my palm and making my skin tingle. "Help me with these buttons? They're different from the ranger uniform."

The dress blues fit perfectly. Wade's discipline extended to maintaining his fitness routine even through the worst of his PTSD. Seeing him in his Chicago FD formal wear, I bit my lip. The uniform represented everything he'd survived and everything he still carried with him.

"You know what Parker said to me this morning?" My hands settled on his shoulders, steadying us both. The familiar shape of him beneath unfamiliar fabric grounded me. "He said I taught them how to care for Grandpa, but that's not true. You taught me first."

Wade's brow furrowed. "What do you mean?"

---