Page 59 of No Kind of Hero
“There aren’t really princesses,” his mom said. “Or if there are, and they’re in a tower, it’s not your job to get them out.”
“See,” he said, “and that’s just what she told me.”
His mom’s blue eyes studied his face. “She told you she’d changed.”
“No. Maybe she told me she wanted to.”
“People don’t change.”
“Don’t they?” He looked at Gracie, and she smiled back at him in that way she had. The way that squeezed his heart dry. “I’d say they do. If something matters enough. Or somebody. And I’m not saying that’s me,” he said before his mom could answer. “I’m saying I like her, but I know she’s not on my path. She’s crossing it, that’s all, and that’s just fine.”
“Oh, honey,” his mom said. “Tell that to somebody who hasn’t been there. Tell it to somebody who doesn’t know you.”
He was up on the scaffolding early that afternoon when José said, “Boss?”
He knew it was her before he turned around. In her overalls again, a blue T-shirt this time, and her hair in a shorter braid. And that hair wassilver.Wasn’t it?
“Hey,” she said. She had a thumb hooked in the pocket of her overalls like she was tough, and his heart did that funny squeeze-thing again.
“Well, hey, beautiful,” he said.
“Can I come up and help you?”
Workers’ comp. Liability.
The hell with it. He’d get her safe. “Sure. Just look out coming up the ladder.”
She climbed up and onto the platform with him, and he didn’t kiss her, because his guys were looking. “Show’s over,” he told them. “Back to work.” He asked Beth, “Here to talk, or here to help?”
“Here for both,” she said.
He looked down, and her fingernails were navy blue. With sparkles. His grin started slow, and then it took over. “Well, damn. Did I let the wild woman loose?”
“I guess you did.” She touched her braid. “What do you think?”
“I think I love your blonde best, but I also think you should do what sets you free.”
“I don’t have that much time left,” she said. “It’s now or never. It’ll fade a lot by the time I’m back, and anyway—I haven’t pierced my eyebrow. I haven’t gotten a tattoo.” She looked at him out of the corner of her eye and said, “But say I did. What should I get?”
He took the last of his caution and threw it into the wind. “Aw, baby, that’s too easy. My name.”
“Oh, yeah?” She had a hand on her hip now, and that silver hair seemed to be giving her some attitude. He liked it.
“Yeah. Right there.” He touched her hip, or maybe he touched her ass. Could be. He had big hands. “Where nobody could see it but me. If I flipped you over and you had my name right there, inked all the way into you? That’s a hell of a welcome mat.”
Her mouth had opened, and now, she snapped it shut. “You were never this nasty before. You wereromantic.”
“Hey. I’m romantic.”
“Prove it.”
He thought fast. “OK. Hang on, because here I go. I love how my bed smelled when we climbed back into it last night. I love how soft your skin feels under my hand. I love how you say my name. And if you got my name tattooed on you the way I want? I’d put yours on my arm. Right here.” He tapped his bicep. “Not where only you could see it. Whereeveryonecould see it. And I’d be glad to do it.”
She sighed. “I hate to admit it, but that was . . .”
He helped her out. “Great. It was great.”
“Hmm,” she said. “Maybe.” She was smiling, and so was he. On a scaffold, with the radio playing, the smell of paint strong in the air, and his guys spraying the opposite side of the auditorium. And he was . . . happy. He washappy.
