Light up the Night (Firehouse Three #2)(9)

“Give me your hand.”

“It’s fine,” she replied in a monotone voice.

“Don’t be stubborn, and hand it over.”

“Not necessary—” she started, but he grabbed her wrist and dragged her toward the bathrooms located just off the lobby.

In front of the sink, he turned her palm over. She hissed a breath inward when the water hit the open cut on her hand. It had stopped bleeding, but there was still dirt in the edges of the wound.

Carefully, gently, he wiped the worst of it away with a clean square of gauze from the first aid kit he’d placed on the countertop. He didn’t say anything, but he was keenly aware of her gaze as he worked to clean, medicate, and bandage her palm.

Once it was done, he took much too long to tape up the gauze. It wasn’t that large of a cut, but since it was on her palm, the extra bandaging would help her keep it clean until it closed completely. Being this methodical and slow wasn’t like him—usually he was the type to get it done in the quickest and most efficient way possible. But honestly? He just didn’t want to let go of her hand.

“That should do it,” he said, once he’d delayed as long as he could. “Keep it clean and dry until tomorrow, and then you can take this off and just use a regular Band-Aid.”

“Thank you,” she said, not looking up at him. She just worried the edge of the tape on the back of her bandaged hand.

“You’re welcome.”

As he packed up his first aid supplies, he wondered what he should say. Sorry for teasing you? No, he wasn’t. Sorry for kissing you? Nope, not sorry for that either. Can I get your number? Maybe that was the best approach.

Before he finished packing up, her cell phone chimed in her pocket. Looking almost relieved, she pulled it free and swiped across the screen to answer.

“Hello? Hey, Jesse, yeah. So, Charlie got a hold of you? Awesome. Yeah, he’s a beautiful pup. Kind of skinny, but really well-behaved. It’s unbelievable to grab a purebred like this, so I wanted to make sure you had first look at him.”

As Everly continued her conversation, she turned away from him. Drake picked up his first aid kit and squared his shoulders.

Maybe he should back off some. There was a chance that he was grabbing onto this woman as a rebound. It hadn’t been that long since he and Belinda had called it quits, after all.

But she was so different. The girl-next-door looks, the shyness and vinegar in turns, the way that pink lower lip pouted a little when she threw a glare his way. All of it called to him, making him wonder if rebound had anything to do with it, or if she was just that special.

Screw the past, and the tired, ugly memories. This was a new place, he was a new man, and even though he wanted to see Everly again, he could afford to play it cool.

Where was the rush, right?

His mind made up, he slung the strap of the kit over his shoulder and rounded the counter.

“…at the festival,” Everly was saying as she turned in response to his wave. “Sure, you can get him there. Friday. Okay, no problem. I’ll see you then.”

She cut the call and let the phone fall down by her side.

“So, I guess I’ll see you Friday at the festival,” he said with a smile.

“I guess so,” she said, her smile looking a bit pained. God. Maybe it was a good thing he hadn’t asked for her number.

“Nice to meet you,” he said, then gave a little wave as he turned and walked toward the front door.

“Drake, wait.”

He paused and turned to look at her. She’d rounded the counter but hesitated at the corner, as if too nervous to close the remaining gap between them.

“Thanks again. For rescuing me, I mean.”

He gave a long, leisurely look from the tip of her toes to the top of her head, still crowned with that crooked ponytail. Crossing the distance between them took only a moment, and he plucked the last leaf from her hair. When she caught sight of it, she blanched.

“It was my pleasure,” he said, tickling her nose with the leaf before laughing and turning to leave.

He’d look forward to seeing her on Friday. After all, it was for charity, right?



Her stilettos made rhythmic clicking sounds as she moved through the swanky hotel lobby. Other people might have fussed with their clothes, or adjusted their jewelry, or patted their hair before heading into the party.

Not Belinda Pearce.

She nodded to an exiting couple before sweeping past the doorman and into the decked-out ballroom.

After another three hours at the salon, and then a quick granola bar and protein shake before dressing, she’d finally made it to her destination.

This was going to work. It had to.

A string orchestra was clustered in one corner of the room, the swells of classical music mingling with chatter and laughter from the tuxedoed and gowned partygoers. Everyone who lived in the Tucson area with a net worth above five million was there. In that, Belinda supposed, she was the outlier.

But not for long.

She plucked a glass of champagne from the tray of a passing waiter and gave a sip. The bubbles tickled her upper lip, the crisp, cool bite of the drink soothing her. She wasn’t nervous. She was excited. Her plan to get Drake back started here. Tonight. And nothing would keep her from following through.

With her half-empty glass in hand, she wandered through the crowd, smiling and chatting with people she’d met in passing at other functions. After all, when you dated one of the Hammerfells, you were expected to mingle with everyone. Of course, that was in the past now.