It was around eight when they got back to Rafe’s place after collecting the tree and set it up. While Kaitlyn went to change, Rafe finished stringing the lights and lit a fire in the fireplace.
Kaitlyn hadn’t asked him to light the fire; he just thought it would be fun. The truth was, his entire body was humming with energy that he needed to work off. His thoughts wandered to sitting on the couch together, watching a movie with the tree lights on, putting his arm around her, kissing her.
He wanted her. And that kiss in front of the falls—it had cemented the fact that no other woman had ever made him feel the way she did. There were moments—times like tonight—when he could imagine the fog that he’d lived under for so long lifting and being able to relax and do the things that normal people did, like walking around together holding hands, enjoying Christmas, making love.
Still Rafe understood that committing to a relationship with Kaitlyn would be sort of like falling off a cliff. He would have to take risks with no safety net, and the consequences of putting his heart out there again could be fatal. But there was something about being with her that made him feel like himself—the self he’d left behind a long time ago and never thought he’d regain. She made him feel like the man he could have become if tragedy hadn’t struck.
He struggled to clear his head, pacing nervously to the kitchen and noticing the transformation his apartment had undergone in the past hour that Kaitlyn had been in it.
Her purse stood open on the counter, and her earrings were tossed into his wooden salad bowl. Her boots sat lined up next to his shoes near the front door, and her ratty old coat was slung over his couch. Her scent was in the air—a warm, delicious vanilla that reminded him of Christmas cookies and…well, of her.
He was used to living without clutter—at work they had protocols about leaving everything in perfect order. But having this little trail of her things around him…it felt good in a way he couldn’t even articulate. A feeling of peace and contentment overcame him—of rightness. Like she was the missing thing that this place had been waiting for all along. Like she was the one he’d demo’d this old place for and painted and put in a new kitchen and two sinks in the master bathroom. And a second closet with organizers.
“Still up for the movie?” she asked as she entered the kitchen. She was wearing a way-too-big sweatshirt that read “Love is Love” and leggings and furry gray slippers—and she looked adorable and at home.
“What about decorating the tree?” he asked, looking at the plumpish tree strung with lights and nothing else.
“It’s so pretty,” she said, assessing Rafe’s work on the lights. “Maybe we could water it and save the rest for tomorrow? I’m a little tired. And hungry. Want some popcorn?”
“Sure.” He bit back a smile.
In the kitchen, he reached to the right for the big wooden bowl, remembering to take out her earrings—while she reached left into a cupboard for a bag of popcorn. She put it in the microwave while he poured them some sparkling water with ice. This dance they did—moving around his kitchen, passing each other, reaching for things yet never once bumping into each other—was a familiar one. One that played out very much the same in her tiny kitchen as here in his bigger one. He’d forgotten how much he missed it.
She took the popcorn out of the microwave, opened the bag, and dumped it into the bowl. They both reached for some at the same time, their hands grazing.
“I had a great time tonight,” he said, unable to hide how he felt. “I’m glad you’re here.”
She scanned his face carefully, as if she was making sure he meant it. “Me too,” she finally said, “on both counts.” She reached into the bowl for another handful of popcorn and cracked a smile. “Race you to the couch.”
It was something that started because the old couch in her apartment had a broken spring that tended to stick up and pinch whoever sat on it. They each tried to be the one to claim the opposite side.
He grabbed more popcorn. “New couch, remember?”
She took the bowl from him. “Well, I’m picking my side anyway.”
They sat for a while, watching the fire and enjoying the tree, eating mostly in silence. For the first time in he couldn’t remember how long, he realized they were just being themselves.
“Rafe,” she said, between handfuls of popcorn, “I really like sitting here, staring at your bare Christmas tree.”
“Our tree.” He waited to see how she would react to that, but her only response was lifting a brow in question. “I mean, it fell right in front of us.”
“Maybe we don’t even need the ornaments,” she said, putting her hands up like a pretend frame. “It’s pretty without them.”
He reached behind them, moving aside a couch pillow. “Well, we need at least one.” He held out the box. “For you.”
She stopped chewing and stared, wide-eyed. “What’s this?”
He shook it a little. “Open it.”
She traded him the popcorn bowl for the box. And as soon as she saw what was in it, she darted a glance over at him, put her hand over her mouth, and teared up.
“Kaitlyn, geez.” He put an arm around her, which meant he had to move a little closer, which was fine with him. “Don’t cry.” He hadn’t expected a big reaction. He’d just thought she’d say it was cute and hang it on the tree. This display of emotion threw him—in a good way.
She wiped her eyes on her sweatshirt sleeve and sniffed while he took the small ornament out of the box. It was a tiny painted kangaroo—obviously pregnant, with “Welcome Baby” and the year painted on the side.
She was ugly crying now, her head bent on her arm. Finally, he tugged on her sweatshirt sleeve and pulled her into his arms.
“Don’t cry,” he said, smoothing her hair, which was so soft and silky.
“I love it,” she said, wiping her cheeks. “It’s adorable. And very thoughtful. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome,” he managed, but he could barely concentrate on the ornament. Because all he could think of was how much he wanted to kiss her.
But how would that be different from just a few months ago, when he’d acted without thinking? Yet he was drawn to her in a way he’d never been drawn to anyone before, even Claire. Kaitlyn stirred him and challenged him and accepted him—but what could he give her in return, and would it be what she deserved? Once he acted on his feelings, there would be no going back. Things would change between them again—this time for good.
* * *
The cheery popping and snapping of wood on the fire was a bit muffled by the bursts of stellar gunfire and the swish of light sabers, which made the peaceful ambience of Rafe’s living room a little startling but still fun. But Kaitlyn was too affected by the man next to her to concentrate much on the movie. They’d had such a fun evening. It seemed almost like old times. Except it didn’t.
A few times, her hand brushed Rafe’s in the popcorn bowl, sending her pulse skittering and leading her to move her hand away as quickly as possible. Sometimes, their legs brushed too, and Rafe seemed just as anxious about keeping some space between them as she was.
Maybe Kaitlyn was able to maintain that space physically, but mentally she was a wreck. The more galactic firepower, the more sparks seemed to fly between them. These disruptive urges shattered her concentration in the movie, which fortunately she’d seen too many times to count anyway.
Sleep caught her unawares, as it often did during this pregnancy. When she awakened much later, the room was dark except for the softly glowing tree. The fire had died down to embers. She had a blanket over her, tucked up under her chin. She tossed off the upper half of it and stretched out her legs only to bump into Rafe’s long ones next to hers on the couch.
She felt under the blanket to find the rest of Rafe right next to her—her hand finding his hard chest, encased in warm flannel, his long, muscular legs in jeans…Yes, it was definitely Rafe, all six two of his delicious body running the length of hers.
She turned to find his face very close to hers. Even worse, he was lying there, propped up on an elbow, looking at her.
A disconcerted feeling flashed through her at the thought of him watching her sleep. Frowning, she asked, “How long have you been staring at me?”
“Not for long,” he said, his voice a little low and gravelly, which made him sound even sexier than usual. He rubbed at his eyes. “I fell asleep too.”
She should move, because it was impossible not to touch him, and the only alternative was to fall off the couch.
She willed herself to move, say good night, and flee quickly to his tidy spare room down the hall. But one glance into his eyes prevented all movement and wiped out all thought. Their gazes locked and she got lost in their dark beauty.
Her heartbeat accelerated dangerously, causing a loud, steady drumbeat in her ears. Heat was consuming her, even though the fire was out and the room had taken on a chill. And it also seemed to be radiating from Rafe’s big body, which was so close and so, so tempting.
What was the reason she’d agreed to stay here with him again? She couldn’t remember. Hadn’t she known she’d be unable to guard her heart from him? The real Rafe was a dozen times more appealing than the handsome joker always ready with a quip.
She forced herself to make a move, but his arm came around her, freezing her in place. He took up her hand in his big one, his long, graceful fingers twining with hers.
“The movie was good,” he said, but his eyes told a different story—one not connected with Star Wars at all. Or any movie, for that matter.
“I—missed the end,” she said, wanting to look away but unable to.
“I could explain it to you,” he said quietly, his voice lulling her with its deep, soothing tones. “Leia loves Han, but he’s frozen in the carbon-freezing chamber. Luke is down a hand and shocked that Darth is his daddy, but he’d rather die than join the Dark Side. He’s got some brother-sister force thing going with Leia and she sends Lando to fly by to save him.”
“I—I’ve seen it before, like, five times. With—you.” For some reason it was hard to talk, her words pushing out of her, sluggish and breathless.
“Kaitlyn,” he said, his tone solemn. Somehow hearing the syllables of her name roll off his tongue sent a tiny thrill to her core.
She swallowed. “Yes, Rafe?”
“You—look very peaceful when you sleep.”
“That’s because this baby makes me sleep like the dead.” Keep this light, a voice inside her head warned. If only he wasn’t holding her hand, aimlessly twining and untwining their fingers. That was causing sparks of sensation to zip and zag up her arm and spread through her entire body. “I’ve never slept so deeply in my life.”
“It’s—it’s not a good idea, for you to look like that.”
“Why not? Was I drooling?” She lifted a hand to swipe over her mouth. “Snoring? Sleeping with my mouth open?”
He cracked a faint smile. “No. Nothing like that. It’s just that you’re—beautiful.”
Before she could back away, he cupped her face in his hands and brought his lips to hers.
Their lips touched, sending a shock wave through her limbs. Rafe readjusted his body on the narrow couch, his knee settling between hers. Their tongues met and slid together, their bodies shifting to deepen the kiss so that they were suddenly flush all down their lengths.
This was the kiss by the angel statue times ten. This was her twining her fingers through the thick layers of his hair and running her hands under his shirt along the solid muscular contours of his back, and him nipping at her lower lip and then sucking on it and grabbing her backside with both hands and letting out a low growl that thrilled her to the core.
It was their breath getting ragged and their hands frantic and kiss following upon kiss, devouring and insatiable.
It was like the wedding.
And that thought made Kaitlyn freeze.
She turned her head and nearly tumbled off the couch in her race to sit up.
“What is it?” Rafe asked, helping her find purchase on the cushion. His hair was disheveled, his shirt half-unbuttoned from where she’d undone it groping his chest. She sat there, gathering her hair up in a ponytail, trying to regain her breath and her sense. “What’s wrong?”
“Nothing,” she said. “I just—” She halted and closed her eyes. If they were to communicate, she had to stop avoiding hard conversations. “Yes, something is wrong.” She faced him on the couch. “I need to know that this isn’t just another opportunity to let ourselves get out of control. That night at the wedding it was a few drinks, the blackout. Now it’s the haze of falling asleep together on the couch.” She swallowed hard for courage. “I need to know this is for real. Not just a…spur-of-the-moment thing. A thing that’s too easy for both of us to do without thinking.”
Afraid of his reaction, afraid she may have pushed him too far, she turned away, and ended up staring at her hands in her lap. Her heart was beating wildly, and part of her thought she must be out of her ever-loving mind for stopping something so wonderful.
This was not her strong suit, saying these things, especially with him, but she had to know. Because she was all in. She’d known it from the moment he’d looked at her over those ultrasound images.
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw him sitting there, bent forward, his long fingers tented together in a steeple between his legs.
“You want the truth from me? I’ll give it to you.” He paused, and she swore she held her breath the entire time, afraid to inhale. He turned on the couch and faced her. “You haven’t called me a coward, but that’s the word I would use for myself. Because you’re right, it’s very easy to start kissing you without thinking. I used the wedding and the blackout and any other excuse I could to justify being with you, but the truth is—the truth is—being with you scares me more than going into a burning building.”
She couldn’t stop herself from reaching up to touch his cheek, gently tracing the outline of one brow and then the other with her thumb, smoothing out the tension. Then she dropped her hand and smiled. “Well, you’ve been in some pretty dangerous situations before,” she said in a low voice, “but you’ve always come back out.”
He looked at her, wide-eyed. She thought about saying more, but it suddenly occurred to her that none of what she would say would matter. What mattered was what he believed himself. She got up from the couch and kissed him softly on the forehead. “Think about that, fireman,” she said over her shoulder as she headed for her room.
* * *
Rafe was glad to work a twenty-four-hour shift starting the next morning. Unfortunately, it was a slow one, giving him plenty of time alone with his thoughts. Despite being in charge of grocery shopping and preparing dinner for everyone at the station, he couldn’t stop thinking of Kaitlyn. Even trying to sit and concentrate on the newest thriller he’d brought to occupy the slow times between calls wasn’t working to divert his attention.
Last night, even though he’d only recently realized it himself, he’d been looking to fall into something easy with her without thinking about it. That was exactly what he’d allowed to happen at the wedding. From now on, he wanted things to be different. He wanted to be different. If only he could be the kind of man whose past didn’t stand in the gateway of his future. His not only stood in the way—it was bricked and mortared over the door. How did he even begin to break it down and push it out of the way?
When Rafe got off his shift early the next morning, he walked over to Rachel’s antique shop to pick up the gifts she’d wrapped for the upcoming shelter party. He found her behind the counter, unwrapping a box of antique glassware. She set a finely cut champagne glass on the countertop. “So pretty. They don’t make them like that anymore.”
The shop looked festive, decorated for the holiday with a tree covered with tinsel and icicles and bubble lights in the corner. Bowls of antique ornaments abounded. A vintage silver aluminum tree sat on a table near the front counter covered with bright green balls.
“So how many years have you and Dad been married?” Rafe asked, taking a seat in an elaborately carved red velvet chair near the front desk. Rachel had pointed out the stack of packages that needed to go to the shelter, donations customers had contributed over the past month or two.
He knew he should come clean with Rachel, tell her that the engagement was fake, but he just couldn’t bring himself to do it. Would holding on to a fantasy be the most he’d ever be able to do, or would he have the guts to come clean?
“It’ll be seventeen in the spring. My, time has just flown by, hasn’t it?” She unwrapped a wineglass and held it up to the light. “Look at these etchings. So pretty. But these glasses need a good bath first. All their beauty is obscured by grime.”
Rafe played with a snow globe that showed kids building a snowman in front of a turreted Victorian house. “You two are a great match,” he said.
She smiled, looking up at Rafe with a puzzled expression. “He tolerates my love of putting Christmas decorations everywhere there’s an empty space, and I tolerate his penchant to want to read every book he runs into. So it’s win-win.”
“That probably wasn’t easy—moving into the house he shared with Mom.”
That made her stop unwrapping. She set the latest glass down on the counter and came and sat down across from him on a mid-century-style orange vinyl chair. “No, it wasn’t easy, but it was something we did for you kids. To keep you in the only home you knew. So, Rafe, sweetie, why are you here asking me these questions today when you could be—well, when you could be Christmas shopping with Kaitlyn?”
Rafe smiled. “Something is on my mind that I’d like to talk to you about.”
Rachel sat back and made a big gesture with her hands. “You have all my attention.”
“Can I ask you what you thought of Claire?”
Rachel’s finely arched brow rose in surprise. “Claire…Stevens?”
“Yeah. I wondered what your impression was of her…of us. From way back then. What kind of couple were we?”
“You were a very sweet couple from what I remember.” She spoke carefully and, he thought, cautiously. “Very young.”
Rafe nodded. “We met the first day of college.”
Rachel tapped the arm of the chair thoughtfully, like she was remembering as she spoke. “I’m sure Claire taught you a lot about how to love someone. You went through a very important time of your life with her. You two grew up together. Became adults together.”
Rafe nodded. “Kaitlyn’s a lot different than Claire.”
“How so?” Rachel asked, fiddling with a glass bowl of vintage Christmas ornaments that someone had sprayed fake snow on many years ago.
Rafe chuckled. “Claire was quiet. Agreeable. Sweet.”
“Kaitlyn’s sweet.”
“She is sweet,” he said with a wry grin. “But she’s not beyond calling me out on some things.”
As soon as Rachel gave him a look, he knew she was going to take Kaitlyn’s side on that one. “We all need someone who will tell us the truth when we need it.”
“Kaitlyn’s very independent—to a fault. She feels like she has to do everything on her own. I keep wanting to protect her, but she’s one of the strongest people I know. Sometimes I wish she’d let me do more things for her. Honestly, it was a lot easier to do that for Claire.” But in the end, he’d failed Claire. The sudden pain of remembering stabbed him in the gut.
What if he failed Kaitlyn too? Maybe someone like him didn’t deserve another chance.
“Kaitlyn took over her grandfather’s business at such a young age,” Rachel said. “I think she’s got big plans for it. So being strong and independent are, for the most part, great qualities that have helped her succeed.”
“Yes, but she always puts herself last. I mean, she won’t even buy herself a new coat because she’s so worried about saving up money for her niece to get to college. And she sneaks cookies to all those elderly guys who come and eat there every day. She’s sweet and really fun and…pretty amazing.”
“Oh, Rafe.” Rachel’s eyes were watering up.
Rafe looked up in a panic. “Did I say something sad? I didn’t mean to make you cry, Rach. Geez.”
Rachel swiped at her eyes. “It’s just…do you realize how you sound?”
“A little crazy, I guess.”
“No, honey.” She reached forward and patted his knee. “Like a man in love.”
What? No. That couldn’t be what he was feeling.
“I always said that we lost a big part of you in that accident. This is the first time in a long time that I’ve heard you sound—happy. Like that sweet boy I knew a long time ago.”
He looked Rachel dead in the eyes and said exactly what he was thinking. “I can’t go back to being the carefree person I was before the accident. Too much has happened.”
She leaned forward and grabbed his hands. “Rafe, sadly, you had to learn at a very young age that life can be unexplainably cruel, first with your mother dying and then your fiancée. It’s no wonder you have hesitations about loving someone again. And as for going back to being carefree—you’re older and wiser now. You wouldn’t want to go back to the way you were before.”
Rafe cracked a smile. “Well, maybe just a little more carefree wouldn’t hurt.” They sat there together in silence for a little while. When he spoke again, he changed his tone to serious. “Rach, we hit the jackpot getting you as a mom.” He got up and hugged her. “I love you.”
“I love you too,” she said, squeezing him right back. “And I want you so badly to be happy.” She hugged him hard on the so badly part. “Don’t be afraid to be happy, okay?”
Katie did make him happy. The fact that they were having a baby scared the bejesus out of him, but he couldn’t deny that the thought of the baby made him happy too. But he was afraid that if he reached out for all that happiness, it would all disappear in an instant, just as it had before. What if he just couldn’t take that risk?