Page 61 of Guarded from Danger

“Yes.” I give myself a mental shaking. “I just… got caught in my thoughts for a second.”

He frowns. “Are you sure? If something’s bothering you…”

Well, as a matter of fact. There are a number of things bothering me, my concern for Xavier right at the top. But is this the time I want to bring it up? Right before I’m supposed to go over to Sarah’s apartment to help plan her wedding? Before Xavier heads down to the shooting range to get his bi-weekly practice in? Is this the best time to launch into a serious discussion that will probably end up with me crying?

Probably not.

“I’m fine,” I assure him with a smile. “Just thinking about Sarah’s wedding. I’m really looking forward to helping her plan it.”

Which is true. Sarah’s become a good friend, just as Jade has—an unexpected but welcome silver lining in this whole experience. And when Sarah asked me if I’d be a bridesmaid last week, I was thrilled to say yes.

Not only am I happy to help Sarah with her wedding, it has the added bonus of helping occupy my time. When I first got to B and A, I was too shellshocked to think about doing much of anything, but as time went on, I started to feel restless. Daily walks and yoga and catching up on my favorite authors was great, but it wasn’t enough.

More recently, I’ve been helping the team out with some administrative stuff—making travel arrangements, ordering supplies, creating promotional materials—but wedding planning is a welcome addition. It brings out the creative side of me that’s been stifled since those terrible days in the cabin.

Xavier’s expression relaxes, and his eyes brighten to a warm chocolate laced with gold. “Good. I’m really glad you guys get along so well. And who knows, maybe you’ll get some good ideas for?—”

As he cuts himself off, twin spots of red appear high on his cheekbones. Hurriedly, he continues, “Anyway. When do you think you’ll be done?”

I’m still stuck on the last thing he said, or the part he didn’t say, rather—the part I’m hoping has to do with our own wedding. No, we’re not engaged, and the topic hasn’t come up. But it doesn’t mean I haven’t thought about it. Or spun the idea of becoming Mrs. Lucy Stone around in my head, because as much as I like having my own identity, I would definitely take Xavier’s last name when we married.

“Luce?”

Jeez. What is wrong with me? I’m about two seconds away from scribbling Xavier’s and my initials in a notebook, complete with little hearts all around them. “I’ll probably be there for a couple of hours,” I reply quickly. “So I’ll be back before dinner. I was thinking of trying this recipe Sarah gave me; it’s for this taco skillet dish?—”

“Actually, I had something in mind,” Xavier says. “Kind of… a surprise. So I’ll take care of dinner tonight, if that’s okay?”

“A surprise? For dinner?”

He grins. “Don’t be afraid. I promise it’ll be edible.”

Looping my arms around his neck, I kiss his cheek. “I’ll love whatever you make.”

His hand strokes down the length of my hair as he chuckles, his chest rumbling against mine. “Love might be a bit of an exaggeration. But it’ll be good. At least, I’ll try my best.”

Aww.

My heart melts.

“It’ll be great.” Brushing my lips across his, I add, “I can’t wait.”

Just when Ithink Xavier can’t be any more perfect, he does something to prove me wrong.

I walked into the apartment expecting to find Xavier in the kitchen, piles of pots and pans and dishes around him, looking slightly flustered like he always does when he tries to cook. I was expecting a pasta dish of some sort, something with lots of cheese and garlic, possibly with the ingredients for a simple salad on the side. And if he was feeling inspired, maybe a bottle of wine or a small bouquet of flowers picked from the garden set on the dining room table.

But I wildly underestimated what Xavier planned.

The apartment is immaculate, and as I look across the open living space to the kitchen, there’s not a dirty dish or pan in sight. Candles in mason jars are set all around the room, their golden glow creating a romantic feel. Soft music is playing, a jazz singer crooning about love in a sultry rasp.

And the flowers.

There must be hundreds of them, all in different shades of yellow—tulips and roses and carnations and daisies—arranged on every available surface. At the center of the dining room table there’s a large bouquet, with at least two-dozen flowers, a gorgeous splash of color against a crisp white tablecloth.

The table is set with plates I know I’ve never seen before, sleek white with touches of gold that match the silverware. Elegant wine glasses and a bottle of my favorite Pinot complete the presentation, already uncorked and ready to pour.

I’ve been to a lot of fancy restaurants in my life, but none of them come close to competing with this.

No man has ever come close to the one standing before me, so handsome in a white button-down and tailored charcoal pants, his dark hair pushed back into unruly waves, and his beard neatly trimmed so it sets off his strong features. No man could compete with Xavier, with his irresistible smile and gaze filled with hopeful anticipation as he looks at me, his love on full display.

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