“I knew that when I didn’t show up for work in the morning, someone would call Haddie and that would start the wheels in motion. She’s a worrier and knew I was preparing for a big meeting I had that morning that I would’ve never missed. I figured that maybe they’d be able to track my cell phone to our location. It was a long shot in my mind but it was the only hope I had.” I touch the ring on my finger with my thumb. “I clung to it and willed every thought I had that it would work.”

“I don’t even know what to say,” Colton says before clearing his throat. I’m sure that he had never expected this to be my story. Nonetheless, I am impressed at his compassion for me despite being a self-professed anti-drama person. For this is definitely drama.

“There’s nothing you can say,” I shrug, reaching over to place a hand gently on his cheek. A silent thank you for letting me talk and for listening without interjecting. Without telling me what I should have done as most people do. “It almost took another day and a half for them to find me. I was hallucinating by then. Freezing cold and trying to escape the confines of the car in my own head. I thought the rescuer was an angel. He looked in the window and the sun was behind him, lighting him up like he had a halo. Later he told me I screamed at him,” I laugh softly at the memory. “Called him an SOB and that he couldn’t have me yet. That I wasn’t ready to die.”

Colton pulls me onto his lap so that my body is cradled between his knees and softly kisses the tracks left by my tears. “Why does it not surprise me that you’d tell off an angel?” he laughs, his lips pressed to my temple. “You’re very good at telling people off,” he teases as we both mutually recall the numerous times I have told him off.

I lean into him, accepting and being grateful for his comfort. I close my eyes and let the heat of the suns rays and the warmth of Colton against me melt away the chill deep in my soul. “I told you, Ace. Baggage.”

“No,” he says, his chin resting on the top of my head, “that’s just a fucked up situation in circumstances way out of your control.”

I wish everybody saw it that way. I shrug the errant thought away. “Too many sad thoughts for such a beautiful evening,” I sigh, leaning back and looking at Colton.

He smiles wistfully at me. “Thank you for telling me. I’m sure it’s not the easiest thing to talk about.”

“What do you want to do now?”

Colton grins wickedly at me and grabs my waist, lifting me off of him as he stands up. He doesn’t release me and continues to lift me up, ignoring my growing shrieks as I realize his intentions, and places me over his shoulder.

“I’m too heavy! Put me down!” I squeal as he starts to trot up the stairs. I smack him on the butt, but he just continues up.

“Quit wiggling,” he laughs as he reciprocates the spank. By the time we reach the top, my sides hurt from laughing so hard and Baxter is barking loudly at us. Colton continues to carry me despite reaching the patio, and I swat at him again.

“Put me down!”

“It’s taking everything I have to not toss you in the pool right now,” he warns me.

“No!” I screech, kicking wildly as he swings me so that I can see how close we are to the edge.

He hovers there momentarily as I cry out but then steps away as I sag in relief. He stops and pulls my legs down, and my body slowly slides down the length of him. When our faces are even, he tightens his arms around me so that I am standing on air, acutely aware of my chest pressed against his. “Now, there’s that smile I like,” he murmurs, his breath feathering over my face.

“Very funny, Ace!” I chastise. “You—” My next words are smothered as he captures his mouth with mine. Soft, tender, and seeking, I yield to him. Needing the virile man against me to make me forget my story earlier and to remind me why it’s okay to move on. We sink into the kiss as he lets me slowly slide the rest of the way down his body, my hands holding his face. The calluses of his hands rasp across the bare skin of my back as he slides them down to hold my hips.

I mewl in protest as he pulls back from me. Unnamed emotions flicker through his eyes that are impossible to read. “You hungry?” he asks.

Yes, for you. I bite my bottom lip between my teeth and nod my head to keep the words from slipping out. “Sure,” I say stepping back from him to turn and find a table set up to the left of us, complete with food. “What? How?”

Colton smiles. “I have my ways,” he laughs as he leads me over and pulls a chair out for me. “Thank you, Grace,” he says toward the open doors into the house, and I hear a faint reply from inside.

“Your secret weapon?”

“Always!” He pours us wine. “Grace is the best. She takes care of me.”

Lucky woman. “It smells delicious,” I say taking a sip of my wine as Colton dishes out what appears to be chicken with artichokes and angel hair pasta.

“It’s one of my favorites,” he muses, taking a bite. He watches me as I taste it, and I can see him visibly relax when I hum with approval.

Dinner is light and relaxed. The food is excellent, and I despise Colton telling me that Grace does not divulge her recipes. I tell him I’ll talk her out of it somehow, someway.

We talk about our jobs, and Colton asks how Zander is doing. I tell him that he hasn’t spoken any more words yet, but that he seems to be responding more, which is a good step. I tell him that hero status has been definitely bestowed on him by the boys, and that they can’t stop reliving how he pulled up to the school. I explain about the next process to get the permitting for some of the new facilities when Corporate Cares gets the green light.

He tells me that he’s been busy with the media side of the upcoming season along with everyday operations at CD Enterprises. In the past week, he’s filmed a commercial for Merit Rum, did a photo shoot for a new marketing campaign, and attended an IRL function.

We sink into a relaxed rhythm, mutually sharing with each other, and it feels normal in what is otherwise a surreal setting for me. When we finish dinner, he offers a quick tour of the rest of the house, which I have secretly been wishing for. Colton tops off our glasses and grabs my hand. He shows me a state-of-the-art kitchen with warm-hued granite contrasted by top-of-the-line stainless steel appliances.

“Do you cook, Ace?” I ask running my fingers over the enormous island as I wander, my thoughts flashing back to a different kitchen island. When he doesn’t answer, I look up to meet his eyes and I flush, knowing that he is remembering the same thing I am.

He just shakes his head and smirks at me. “I can throw a little something together when I need to.”

“Good to know,” I murmur as he leads me to the next room, a sunken family room that the kitchen overlooks. Deep, chocolate leather couches that look like you could sink into oblivion in are shaped in a semicircle facing a media unit. He takes me into an office oozing of masculinity in rich leather and dark wood. A broad desk takes up a large portion of the space, the walls lines with bookshelves, and a lone acoustic guitar propped up against the far wall.

“You play?” I ask, nodding my head toward the guitar.

“For myself.” His answer mixed with the unexpected softness in his voice has me turning to look at him. He shrugs, “It’s what I do to help me think…to work though stuff in my head.” As he talks, I step further into the office and run my fingers across bookshelves, looking at the scattered pictures of his family. “I don’t play for others.”

I nod my head in response, understanding the need to have something to help when your head is troubled. I continue perusing the bookshelves and one photo causes me to do a double take. A younger Colton looks exhausted yet jubilant in his race suit standing in front of his car, arms raised in victory, smile wide with pure accomplishment, and confetti raining down. The only distraction in the picture is the woman wrapped around his torso. She stares up at him, love, adoration, and reverence plastered blatantly on her face. I’d know her face anywhere.

“What’s this picture of?” I ask casually as I turn to him where he’s relaxed against the doorjamb, watching me as I look at his things.

“What’s that?” he asks tilting his head and walking toward me. I lean back and point toward the photograph in question.

A reflective smile graces his lips and his eyes light up. “That was my first win in the Indy Lights circuit.” He shakes his head in remembrance, “God, that was a year.”

“Tell me about it.” He arches an eyebrow at me as if he is questioning whether I really want to hear about it. “I want to know,” I prompt.

“It was my second year and I thought I was going to lose my ride if I didn’t pull a win. I had come close so many times and something always happened to prevent it.” He reaches out and takes the picture off of the shelf to look at it. “Looking back, I know now that I made a lot of rookie mistakes that caused the problems. But back then I was just frustrated and scared I was going to lose the one thing I really loved—too much ego, too little listening. Some things never change, huh?” He glances up and I smile at him. “Anyway, everything seemed to be going bad this race. We couldn’t get the car adjusted right because the weather was erratic. Too many variables to explain. But we found ourselves with five laps left and I made a run at the lead. Passed the leader in a stupid risk that I never should have taken, but it paid off and we won.”

“First of many victories, right?” I ask as I take the picture from his hand and study it again.

“Right,” he smirks, “And hopefully more this season.”