Page 38 of Living with Fire
Before the fire, I checked the locks on every window and every door three times before I went to bed every night. I slept with a baseball bat beside my bed. Multiple times a week I would wake up in a cold sweat, terrified by the nightmares my subconscious dredged up. Nightmares that I once lived.
It’s only been a few days, I know, but I’ve had exactly one nightmare since staying with Nate. And it was…different from all the rest. It wasn’t the bone chilling nightmares of my past. I was stuck in a dark expanse of nothingness. Smoke billowed around me, threatening to choke the life from my lungs. The only light came from a fire that burned so hot in a ring around me that if I moved a muscle in any direction, I felt the hot singe of it on my skin.
When I startled myself awake, heart pounding, and face flaming with heat, I took a few gasping breaths before I got my bearings. Nate’s house. I was in the guest bedroom at Nate’s house. He was on the other side of the far wall, in his bedroom, asleep. If I screamed, he would hear me, and he would come running. I knew he would.
That was it. I came down from the nightmare and fell right back to sleep. There was no getting up to check on every entrance to the house. There was no creeping through the dark of the night to ensure there were no monsters lurking in closets, or under the bed.
I haven’t slept this well in years. I wake feeling more rested than I can remember in recent times, and I’m certain it has nothing to do with a nice mattress or comfortable bedding, though both are true. Nate makes me feel safe. It could have something to do with the fact that he literally saved my life, but I’d like to think it’s deeper than that.
“Go,” Bryn hisses at me with a playful swat to the middle of my back. She’s urging me to handle the table of four men, all Nate’s size, that walked in a few minutes ago. “You can do it. Make me proud.”
I shoot her a narrow eyed glance over my shoulder then grin. It’s only my second day, a Saturday no less, but it’s still early—well before the dinnertime rush—and she thought it would be a good idea to test the waters on my own before it got busy.
Grabbing four menus and pulling my writing pad out from the pocket of my apron, I head towards the table, still thinking of the man I’ve hardly seen all day.
It’s the intensity of his stare each time I answer a question he’s asked. Like he’s committing everything I tell him to the best places in his memory.
It’s the way his calloused hands caught me in the kitchen and held me with a gentle touch. Like he somehow knows all my darkest secrets and wouldn’t dare touch me with anything but the soft fingers that ran along my skin.
It’s how he deals with the other women in his life—Jordan, Bryn, the other servers—always treating them with the utmost respect. And the way he laughs and has fun with the cooks in the kitchen. And all the interactions he has with his chosen brothers.
It’s everything about him, and I’ve only known him for a handful of days.
“Hey guys,” I greet the table of four, handing each of them a menu. “Can I get you all started with a drink?”
Nate started the training process yesterday, once we got back here from picking up my things. When Bryn got in later in the afternoon, she took over while Nate snuck off to his office.
Probably to work on the stuff for the accountant.
I didn’t say anything to him, but I overheard him and Jordan talking yesterday morning when she asked if he’d made progress on things. I don’t know what exactly she was referring to, but I know that he wanted to get working on it.
He stayed cooped up in the office the rest of the day until we left at ten, and the second we got in this afternoon he went straight there. He’s hardly come up for air. It makes me hopeful that he’s gotten somewhere, but the state of the office when we left last night was chaos, so my optimism is low.
He was stressed and exhausted. The whole way to his place he kept pushing a hand through his hair, hardly speaking a word. The tension radiated off his shoulders in waves. I hated seeing him like that, but it didn’t seem like the time or place to ask him about it. He pushed Jordan away from helping, and she’s part owner of this place. Why wouldn’t he do the same thing to a nobody like me?
Except he doesn’t know what I truly am. When we talked about my previous job, we only talked about the wealth management firm. The financial advising. I’ve kept my accounting degree to myself since coming to Santa Rosé. At least from everyone except for Preston, and that was only because I had to tell him in order to get a job in the first place.
My plan is to talk to Nate about it today. I thought maybe it would be a good idea to let him flounder by himself for a few hours, though. It might make him more inclined to allow someone to assist him. When he told me before that everyone needs help sometimes, and I questioned him, he deflected his answer. I allowed it because his answer was sweet, and I was hungry, but I tucked the little tidbit of information into the back of my mind for safe keeping. Help doesn’t seem like something he likes taking.
“Haven’t seen you around before,” one of the guys, a blonde-haired one closest to me, says once I’ve taken everyone’s drink orders.
My eyes flit up to him while I’m writing the last of the drinks down on my pad. I ask distractedly, “How often do you come?”
Without missing a beat, the guy next to him responds, “Probably once a day,” and the entire table, minus the blonde, erupts in laughter.
A patient smile is plastered on my face, my eyes darting to the man making the joke. Younger than the first. One thing I learned in the early days of serving was never to let customers know they were getting under your skin.
“Feel free to drop a beer in his lap by accident,” the blonde says, redirecting my attention to him. “We only let him out in public a couple times a month. Usually to come here.”
“Thanks for the warning,” I muse to the man, before adding in jest, “I’m more of a fan of spitting in beer versus having someone wear it, though.”
Now everyone at the table, besides the younger one, roars with laughter. It feels good to be able to joke and laugh with people. My smile becomes more genuine, and I tap my pen to the paper in my hands. “I’ll get those beers started for you guys.”
As I step away from the table, I look towards the bar, nearly stopping in my tracks. Vivid blue eyes, which seem brighter than usual thanks to his sky blue t-shirt, are watching me intently from across the bar. My breath catches in my throat, cheeks heating at the way he tracks my movements as I head in his direction.
The way he stares makes me think of our almost kiss yesterday. He had me so heated that I thought I might explode into a million little pieces just from his close proximity and the slight touch of his fingers at my hips, waist, and then face. It didn’t help that, even though he tried to hide it, I felt the telltale evidence of his arousal against my belly before he moved me to a safe distance.
I was disappointed that we were interrupted. I’m disappointed that he hasn’t tried to make another move. I’m also a little relieved. Even if I want him to kiss the breath out of me, it would be a complication since I’m not only staying at his place, but he’s now also my boss. I don’t know if I want to complicate things for myself at work. What would all my coworkers think? They’ve all been really cool about my circumstances, but if I were suddenly sleeping with the boss, would their opinions change?