Reckless

by Kimberly Kincaid

  “You okay, Tina?”

  “What? I have something in my eye, okay?” Tina let out another sniffle before heading to the door in defeat. “Just . . . make lunch, you two!”

  Zoe’s father met her chuckle with one of his own. “So what’s on the menu today?” he asked, cocking a finger at the stockpots simmering away on the stove. She split her attention between the cooktop and the kitchen island, treating the vegetable stock to one last stir before aiming herself at the ingredients piled high on the worktable.

  “Unfortunately, our budget doesn’t let us get too fancy over here, so I try to stick with healthy versions of comfort food. Today it’s vegetable soup and good, old-fashioned grilled cheese. The soup is nearly done, but we’ll have to make a lot of sandwiches. Think you can manage that?”

  “Manage it? Please.” Her father rolled up the sleeves of his light blue button-down shirt, meticulously turning the cuffs over each forearm once, then again, before donning his apron. “Grilled cheese sandwiches were the only thing you let past your lips the entire year you were four. I could probably still make them in my sleep.”

  Zoe’s laughter escaped in a sharp pop. “Really?”

  “You don’t remember?” Her father gestured toward the butter, and Zoe answered the wordless question with a nod.

  “I don’t think so.” Biting her lip in concentration, she sifted through her memories, but came up empty.

  Her father picked up a butter knife, sliding one of the sheet pans Zoe had filled with bread slices in front of his workstation and setting his hands to purposeful motion. “God, I remember it like it was last week. The first time you asked your mother to make you one, you strung the words together. We spent three days trying to figure out what on earth a ‘grouchy sammich’ was.”

  Zoe tucked her smile between her lips, reaching toward the other end of the cooktop to snap the griddle to life. “How did you finally figure it out?”

  Her father wasn’t so cautious with his smile. “After three days of us making you peanut butter and jelly and serving it with frowns on our faces, you marched right on over to the refrigerator and took out the ingredients.”

  “I did not!” As soon as the laughter-laced protest fell from her lips, Zoe knew it wouldn’t stick. Although she couldn’t remember the incident, going the practical route did sound like something she’d do. Maybe even at four.

  “Oh yes, you did,” her father replied, emphasizing the words with a lift of his butter-smudged knife. “You handed over the cheese and the bread, no muss, no fuss, and you and I ate grilled cheese sandwiches that very night in front of the hockey game.”

  An image, time-fogged and fragmented, bubbled up from deep in her memory, and her hands froze into place over the slices of cheese she’d been separating on the counter. “Oh my God, I do remember that! We had that awful chair in the rec room. The really ugly one, with the plaid cushions.”

  Her father lifted a brow. “I’ll have you know those Barcaloungers are timeless pieces of high-quality craftsmanship.”

  “Daddy, that thing was a monstrosity.” Zoe laughed, sliding in next to him to start assembling the bread and cheese into sandwiches for the griddle.

  “That thing was a classic,” he argued, completely without heat. “There’s nothing quite as good as the tried-and-true things in life.”

  Zoe’s heart thumped against her sternum. But her father had taken a leap of faith by coming to Hope House. The least she could do was leap back to meet him square in the middle.

  “Kind of like sharing a grouchy sandwich with someone you love?”

  “Yeah, kiddo.” Her father’s eyes crinkled at the edges, the warmth of his stare melting all the way through Zoe’s chest as he nodded. “Exactly like that.”

  Chapter Twenty-One

  “I’ve got to be honest with you, Gorgeous. Your meat loaf is flying onto plates so fast out here, I’m thinking all you need is a food truck and a fast route to every firehouse in the city, and you could make a mint for Hope House all on your own.”

  Zoe’s fingers squeezed over the fresh tray of green beans she’d just walked from the kitchen to the dining room. The corners of her mouth twitched as Alex capped off his words with a sexy little wink, begging her to let her lips bloom into a full-fledged smile. The urge doubled as she scanned Hope House’s service line and saw that Alex wasn’t really exaggerating, but still, she refused to respond with anything more than a lift of her brows.

  “Are you deliberately messing with me, Mr. Donovan?”

  Alex clapped a palm over the front of his apron, feigning insult. “Of course not.” At Zoe’s and Cole’s twin looks of are-you-kidding-me, though, he recanted. “Okay, maybe a little. But come on. Just look at all these happy people.”

  Zoe followed his gesture over the dining room, where the Thursday night dinner service was in full swing. All eight of the long, communal tables were more than halfway full, with the two closest to the service line being completely occupied. The quiet buzz of conversation was peppered with clinking cutlery and the shush of sturdy plastic trays being pushed down the resident side of the service counter. At the end of the line, Hector and two of his cronies picked up their post-dinner oatmeal cookies and coffee with wide smiles. Brennan stood by the clearing station just waiting to whisk the dirty dishes back to the kitchen, laughing and joking with Ava, and okay, Zoe had to admit it. Everyone really did look happy.

  “All right,” she said, passing the green beans to Cole so he could take them to the front of the service line. After pausing for a quick this-is-all-we-have-left-so-please-make-it-last reminder before sending him off, she turned back toward Alex. “You win. The meat loaf is a success.”

  He dropped his tone a register, ensuring that their conversation stayed private even in the bustle of the dining room. “You’re taking care of these people one meal at a time. The food might be good, but face it, Zoe. Anyone else in your position would’ve thrown in the towel ages ago. Only you didn’t. Instead, you made a difference in these people’s lives. You’re the success.”

  Her cheeks warmed for a brief second before her gaze landed on the large, twilight-shadowed windows at the front of the dining room, and the unguarded door adjacent to them. “Feeding everyone who came in tonight is a success, yes. But for every hungry person in this room, there are at least three more out there who qualify for assistance that I still have to turn away because we don’t have enough food to go around, and I still can’t even think about the most bare-bones security yet. Guys like Damien are still out there. As much as I want to, I have no way of keeping them out there.”

  She reached out, squeezing his forearm to quell the protest clearly tightening the line of his jaw beneath his gold-blond stubble. “Don’t get me wrong. I’m grateful for what I can do right now, but I’ve still got a long way to go, and I know you guys can’t volunteer forever. When I land the Collingsworth Grant, then we’ll talk success.”

  Slowly, the tension in Alex’s jaw slid back into his trademark cocky smirk. “I guess I shouldn’t be shocked,” he said, turning toward the stainless steel counter behind them for a stack of clean plates. “After all, you told me on my first day that feeding everyone at Hope House was your number-one priority. I should’ve known you’d do anything to make it happen.”

  “Including boss you around, pretty boy.” Zoe grinned, grabbing the dish towel draped over her shoulder to give Alex’s denim-covered leg a playful snap. “We still have thirty minutes left in this dinner service, and sitting around isn’t on the menu.”

  “You know you’re going to pay for that later, don’t you?” His eyes glinted, the color of an ocean at sunset, and even though none of the tenants or other volunteers were within earshot of their conversation, Zoe leaned in closer anyway.

  “Why do you think I did it in the first place?” she asked, connecting her gaze with his for just a beat longer before turning to saunter toward the pass-through to the dining room. A quick tour around the space wouldn’t hurt for
security’s sake, and anyway, as excited as she was getting over this grant proposal, she’d missed being in the dining room with the residents.

  Zoe stopped at the first table by the service line, greeting some of the longer-term residents and chatting with a few newcomers before repeating the process at the next table. She got a third of the way through her circuit around the dining room when Rachel slipped through the door leading in from the shelter, putting her barely two steps to Zoe’s left.

  “Oh hey, just the person I was looking for,” Rachel said, tucking a strand of red hair behind one ear. “Do you have a sec?”

  Zoe tilted her head toward a small dish-return alcove, and they took the handful of steps to reach the out-of-the-way space. “Sure. What’s up?”

  Rachel tugged some papers from the stack on her hip. “I coordinated an early pickup schedule for the food drive. I know we were going to wait until next week to start, but Ava’s article on the shelter made huge waves. Half of the businesses are calling to tell us their boxes are already overflowing, so I drafted this up on the fly.”

  “Oh my God.” Zoe’s brows lifted as her jaw dropped in the opposite direction. She flipped through page after page of the detailed list, her surprise doubling. “This is incredible.”

  “I told you this food drive would be awesome. Plus, I’m happy to help,” Rachel said over a playful smile. “I know Hope House is important to you, but your job can’t be the only thing going on in your life.”

  “You have a life, too,” Zoe argued, but Rachel just winked.

  “One with zero romantic prospects. Come on, Zoe. It’s one thing to throw in extra hours when you’ve got nothing personal on the horizon. But I wasn’t kidding about the way Alex looks at you. He might be doing his damnedest to fight it, but this isn’t my first rodeo. I’ve worked with him for years, and I know what I know. That guy has it bad for you.”

  Zoe’s blush served as a quick chaser to the chirp of laughter pushing past her lips. “I told you, it’s just the sex.”

  Rachel put on her very toughest don’t-fuck-with-me face, and whoa. Girlfriend meant business. “It’s not. He likes you. And I think you like him, too. So do yourself a favor, please. Stop being afraid to risk it and give the guy a real chance.”

  “I want to,” Zoe admitted, the words startling her and yet feeling perfect at the same time. “But this thing between me and Alex was never meant to be long-term. My parents’ marriage fell apart because my mother couldn’t handle the risks of firefighting, and I can’t lie, Rachel. Between Mason Watts being killed a few years ago and my dad’s injury after that, the danger scares the ever-loving hell out of me, too. Being with Alex while we’ve worked here at Hope House is one thing. But . . .”

  “You don’t know if you can handle that fear when he goes back to fighting fires,” Rachel finished.

  Zoe shook her head. “Old habits, remember?”

  She let out a breath even though it did nothing to ease the indecision squeezing her rib cage. Yes, she knew Alex had her back in the kitchen, and yes again, Hope House had enough volunteers to give her a bit of a reprieve right now. But in little more than a week, her grant application would be finished and turned in. The firefighters would go back to Eight, she’d go back to running the soup kitchen solo . . .

  And Alex would go back to jumping into things feet first, risking his life every minute of every day.

  Rachel shifted toward Zoe, her stare serious in the shadows of the alcove. “Old habits aren’t always a bad thing. In fact, sometimes, those instincts to keep yourself protected are the only things that save your ass.”

  Zoe waited, sensing the forthcoming but, and she wasn’t disappointed.

  “But sometimes, old habits can hurt you.” Rachel’s voice softened to one step above a whisper, although she didn’t scale back on her delivery. “I’m not trying to get all kittens and rainbows on you. You wouldn’t buy that, anyway. All I’m saying is that from the outside, you and Alex look like you could have something that works. When you’re listening to your gut, don’t forget to ask your heart’s opinion, too, okay?”

  Zoe looked across the dining room, the pressure in her chest tightening as she watched Alex lean in toward Cole, listening to something the other firefighter said for just a brief second before throwing his head back in pure, carefree laughter.

  “I won’t,” she said, but even so, Zoe knew her gut was too headstrong not to win out.

  Alex sat all the way back against his kitchen chair, ninety percent certain he was going to explode. Then Zoe pulled another tray of oatmeal raisin cookies from the oven, ushering the scents of brown sugar and warm cinnamon through the space between them, and yup. That just about sealed the deal.

  “We have got to figure out another way for you to channel your nervous energy; otherwise I’m going to gain about a thousand pounds.” Not that it stopped him from grabbing one more cookie off the plate she’d put in front of him twenty minutes ago. Damn, these things were addicting.

  Zoe slid the cookie sheet over the cooling rack on the counter, folding her bottom lip firmly between her teeth. “Sorry. But I only have three days before I turn this grant proposal in, and . . . well, have you ever had that nightmare where you stand up in front of a huge group of people only to discover you’re naked?”

  He nodded, pushing back from the table to close the space between them while she continued. “Multiply that by about four million, and it’s kind of where I stand right now.”

  “Sorry, what? You lost me at naked.”

  “Alex,” she warned, although her laughter puffed past his cheek as he pulled her in close.

  “Okay, okay.” He dropped a quick kiss over her mouth, mostly because he couldn’t help himself. But that little crease of worry that had set up camp between her eyebrows was honestly killing him. “I know you’re nervous. But you spent all day today on the last section of the proposal.” He kissed her again, just a brush of his lips. “We’ve got a full house with volunteers tomorrow, which means you’ve got all weekend to put the finishing touches on the thing. Not that it needs any,” he added, punctuating the affirmation with another, slower slide of his mouth, and bingo. Zoe melted into his touch. “You brought your A-game, Gorgeous. We’ve got this.”

  “You’re always this sure of yourself when you take risks, aren’t you?”

  Her question arrived on nothing more than an honest whisper, so that’s exactly how Alex answered it. “I’m always confident when I put my mind to something, yeah. But in this case, it’s not me who I’m sure of. It’s you.”

  “What?” She blinked up at him, her body tightening in surprise beneath his grasp.

  But no way was he letting her go. For three weeks, he’d watched her uncover the fierceness he’d seen beneath her caution all along. It was high time she took some credit.

  Alex smiled. “You made the whole thing happen. From start to finish, you’re grabbing the moment to give Hope House all you’ve got. You might not want to admit it, but trust me. If there’s anything I’m sure of, it’s you.”

  “I did a lot of the work,” Zoe said slowly, her body fitting further against his with every word. “But I never would’ve taken the leap if you hadn’t shown me how to be a little reckless. So really, it’s us.”

  Alex took a deep breath, but still, his pulse picked up speed in his veins. He’d been totally committed to living every inch of his life big and bold and right out loud for the last twelve years. He’d jumped from one thing to the next, letting each moment burn bright before it burned out, one hundred percent cocksure that he’d been living his life to the fullest.

  But somewhere between that first morning at Hope House and this moment, with Zoe’s arms around his shoulders and that vulnerable expression that hit him right in the heart, Alex had changed. He didn’t just want to live in the moment in front of him. He wanted to live in all the moments, and he wanted to do it with Zoe.

  Beginning with this one.

  “I want to be with yo
u,” he said, cupping her face to capture both her gaze and the surprise shaping her expression.

  “You’re with me right now.”

  “I want more than now.” Alex skimmed his thumb over the curve of her lower lip, and hell. He’d never felt so reckless or so right in his life. “I want to wake up next to you tomorrow and see your face, just like this, and then I want to fall asleep next to you so we can do the same damn thing all over again. I want you, Zoe, and I don’t want to stop wanting you. I want to take the risk. I want to be with you.”

  He dropped his mouth to hers in nothing more than the hint of a touch, but he felt the kiss everywhere, from his bones to his breath to his balls. Fitting the rise of her cheekbones against each of his palms, Alex held Zoe close, placing soft kisses on every part of her mouth until she pulled back on a gasp.

  “Your hearing is first thing Monday morning, and after that, you’re going back to Eight. You belong there,” she whispered, her eyes roiling with emotion as she stared up at him through the glow of the kitchen lights.

  “I do belong there,” he agreed. “But working with you at Hope House showed me I can belong in more than one place.”

  Zoe’s lips parted, if only for a second. “And what about my father?”

  Alex’s heart pounded a rhythmic warning against his sternum, but he pushed past his clanging sense of self-preservation. Westin might be an old-school firefighter with an honor code to match, but he was still a fair man, and the closest thing Alex had to a father.

  And he wanted Zoe enough to put it all on the line.

  “It’s going to take a delicate conversation, and we’ll have to figure out the best way to have it. I’m not saying it won’t be . . .” Awkward. Brutal. A carte-blanche invitation for the man to kick my ass. “Difficult at first,” he managed past his tightening vocal cords. “But like you said, we’re adults. This isn’t just some one-night stand.”