Page 4 of Love… It's Messy

I look to the side because I can’t stare at him any longer. He takes the cue and fearlessly runs toward the burning building as I stare at the letters on his back and the name that I’ve thought of more times than I can count.

Turning on my toes, I spin in my wooly blanket cape and take myself and the stupid ice bucket to the restaurant across the street.

By two o’clock in the morning, most of the guests have left the restaurant. There are a few stragglers here with me, presumably displaced travelers with nowhere to go.

Apparently, Walden is so small a town that there are no vacant rooms. I know for certain that the wedding I planned and worked last night had sold out the hotel the reception took place in. The only other hotel is currently under an arson investigation. The closest motels are in neighboring towns about thirty minutes away, and a bus is on the way to bring people there.

I just want to go home.

I managed to borrow someone’s cell phone to email Melissa, letting her know what happened and the number to the restaurant. She’s clearly sleeping—rightfully so—as she hasn’t called to rescue me.

I asked a Walden police officer if I could get a ride back to Greenwood Village. Because the drive would take an officer out of duty for six hours round trip, he didn’t have anyone at the moment, but would try to send someone sometime in the morning. Taxis won’t drive that far, and I can’t even Uber without my phone.

My head is down on the table, and I’m inhaling the linen of the tablecloth, feeling rather desolate and depressed when something cold brushes up against my forearm. Startled, I bolt upright and look curiously at the offending object. I’m bone-tired and slightly delirious, so when I see a red soda can on the table, I question my sanity.

Blinking a few times, I run my hand over my eyes and confirm there’s a can of Coca-Cola on the table, then roll my head over to the man standing intimidatingly close to me.

Luke has changed his clothes, no longer in his firefighter ensemble. He’s in sweatpants and a T-shirt with his ladder number on it. Skin sooted and hair dirty and mussed up, he still looks far more put together than I feel.

My mouth opens to ask him what the hell he’s doing here, but he just stares at me … strong, commanding, imposing.

My words fail me.

Those dark blue eyes glare down at me, looking sinister and sexy at the same time. His stance is one of a man who spent the evening being heroic in a fire, and his job isn’t close to being done.

As his lips part, I swallow, wondering how on earth he could now rescue this redhead in a robe.

“Let’s go, Jillian. You’re coming with me.”

two

WHEN LUKE SAID TOcome with him, I assumed it was to drive me back to my home. That was why I shouted my address at him before curling into a ball and falling asleep in the passenger side of his pickup truck.

Under any other circumstances, I’d rather lie on the pavement all night than let this man bring me home, but I was desperate and exhausted.

The time on the dashboard shows I haven’t been asleep long. I rub my eyes and look out the window to where we’re parked in front of a ranch-style home that is definitely not my condo building. Actually, we’re not even in Greenwood Village. If I’m correct, we’re still in Walden.

Shaking the grogginess off, I sit up just as Luke rounds the truck. He opens the passenger door and holds out a hand, which I refuse.

“This isn’t my house. I live at 733—”

“Cherry Street. Yes, I remember. But it’s late, I worked all day and night, and I’m not driving three hours to bring you home.”

I look behind him at the house he’s gesturing toward and shake my head. “I’m not going home with you.”

“You’re already home with me. Whether you walk through that door or not, this is my curb and my property. I wasn’t going to leave you in that restaurant all night. One, you’re a woman, alone. Two, you’re practically naked. I know this isn’t perfect, but it’s all I can offer. If you prefer, you can go inside, and I’ll sleep out here in the backseat. Either way, this situation ends with you walking through my front door and going to sleep where I know you’re safe.”

He tosses me his keys, and I’m impressed I have the wherewithal to catch them.

“There is no way I’m staying with you. I need to go home. I need clothes. I have to go to my office and salvage what I can for this brunch tomorrow … today. Oh God, it’s in eight hours.”

His brows draw together as he looks down at me. “After everything that happened tonight, you’re more worried about the wedding you have to work tomorrow?”

I nod with pleading eyes.

A deep, weighted groan escapes his lips. “I can’t do the drive now safely.”

My lips pout. I might despise the guy, but I don’t want him to crash on the highway due to sleep deprivation.

---