Page 38 of When You Saved Me

I decided that I loved every version of his smile right then.

Swallowing, I looked away. I was so far in over my head and the sensation of drowning was taking hold of me and I wasn’t sure if Deacon would be my life raft or the one who pulled me under.

“Every fall he would have a big party at his house to celebrate the new season and after we’d barbeque for most of the day, we’d end it with a giant bonfire in his backyard. People from all over the neighborhood would come by to see it and gather around as the new season crept in.”

A lightness took hold of my chest as I thought back to those times. “After a few glasses of merlot, he’d sneak over to me and pull me in for a side hug. Then he’d point to the fire and ask me if I could see the layers in the flames like he could.

“When I was younger, I thought he was just buzzed and crazy so I would laugh it off like he was just teasing me. But when I grew older, I took a moment to actually look and noticed there are, in fact, layers to the flames. The tip of the flame always burned a vivid yellow that would cascade downward into a sunset orange and even further still into shades of blue until finally ending with the hidden heat of the clear flame.

“I’ll never forget the night I told him when I finally saw them. His face lit up like a shooting star and that was whenhe told me that people were much like those flames. We had the parts of ourselves that everyone could see. The parts that we chose to show to the outside world. The parts we only showed to those closest to us.” My voice grew distant as I thought back to that pivotal moment in my life when something I’d tossed to the side had become so strikingly clear to me and the dawning realization that it had been in front of me all along. I just chose not to look at it. But when I finally did, it was pure magic.

I was thankful I saw what my papa did before he passed away and that he could share that life lesson with me.

“And what about the last layer of the flame? The clear part?” Deacon asked.

Calm curiosity danced in his eyes when I finally looked at him again. “That’s the hidden part that we don’t even show ourselves.” My lips pulled back in a gentle smile. “But if we’re lucky, someone will be able to uncover it for us.”

Deacon’s face fell and for a moment I could see the devastation he’d witnessed throughout his life written in the shadows that flickered across his face.

“Or at least that’s what my papa said,” I offered, trying to break the tension, but it didn’t work.

Deacon stilled and I swore he saw those very hidden parts ofmewith those green eyes that I’d thought about more times than I liked to admit to myself since the first time I saw them.

“How do you do it?”

I rubbed at my scar again, suddenly feeling agitated. “Do what?” I asked defensively.

“See life through such rose-colored glasses and not have anything affect you.”

His words felt like a slap in the face and my neck recoiled as I pulled back and gaped at him.

“Not have things affect me? You don’t know anything about me.”

He leaned forward and his eyes narrowed on me. Challenging me. “You’re happy all the time. You make the best of things and don’t bat an eye at trials that come your way. I know men who have fought in wars who, if they went through what you did the day of that fire, wouldn’t be able to even be around an active hearth, let alone tell a nice story about bonfires. So”—his voice was stern as he moved closer to me—“how do you do it?”

“I…” Heat rolled over me in waves at his command and I hated how much I liked it when he told me what to do. When he demanded things from me. He was so bossy and gruff, and I wanted more of it because it pulled at something in me. Some hidden desire that hadn’t shown itself untilhecame along.

“I live for the people who lost their lives.” The words came out on a hushed breath. “It feels wrong to let the time I was given go to waste when their time was cut short.”

His head cocked to the side. He was studying me like I was some abstract painting that he was trying to find meaning in. Part of me shied away under his scrutiny, but another part—perhaps the louder one—liked that he was observing me. I wanted his eyes on me. I wanted him to see me.

“Does that satisfy you?” I asked and then rubbed at my scar again. The itch was starting to drive me insane.

For a moment I thought he might have been frozen in place, then his gaze flicked down to where my palm rubbed against my ribs.

“It’s bothering you a lot tonight.”

My hand stilled.

“It’s fine.” I tossed my hair over my shoulder and tried to look away but found my eyes settling back on him again.

“It’s the dry air,” he said before rising from the couch and disappearing down the hall.

“Where are you going?” I leaned forward and called after him.

No response.

Casper’s head popped up and he blinked slowly at me. He was probably wondering why I was causing such a fuss and disrupting his beauty sleep.

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