Page 394 of Off Limits: The Firsts

He shrugs sheepishly. “I assumed if you had a place of your own, you’d be stuck with me. You can’t be a nomad when you have roots. And I want you to have roots, Em. Here. With me. Ones that tangle with mine and can never be ripped out. Lazy Sunday together ones and white picket fence ones.”

“I’m stunned. Shocked. Overwhelmed.”

“This is yours, Em. Your school. Your dream. Yours. My dream has always been you, and I have you. Your dream is the school, and now you have it. Oh, but there’s one caveat.”

“Anything,” I say, still thinking I need to pinch myself.

“The new owner says it’s against code to have someone living in the hangar.”

“He does, does he?” If I could smile any wider, I would.

“Yeah, he’s a stubborn SOB, so I don’t think I can get him to change his mind . . . but I happen to know one half of a king-sized bed that’s unoccupied.”

“I snore.”

“I know.” He laughs.

I turn to face him for the first time and know I could never repay him for what he’s given me. The safety. The security. The love. The friendship. The humor. The opportunity.

“I’ll pay you back. I’ll work harder than—”

“I’ll count on it,” he murmurs as he presses his lips against mine.

“I’ll sign an agreement to—”

Another kiss.

“No worries, I have insurance.” He laughs as he holds our handcuffed hands up. “You’re not going anywhere.”

Eighteen Months Later . . .

The city’s lights begin to come alive as the night grows darker. I sit and stare at them because it’s all I can really do since Grant is sitting solemnly beside me without saying a word.

“Do you want to talk about it?” I ask, knowing the case he’s investigating has been upsetting him. He won’t admit it, but it’s in his snap of temper and silence when he comes home after work.

It’s taken some getting used to him being a detective and having cases to become invested in versus his old job where he responded to a call and then left.

“I’m fine.”

When he asked if I wanted to take a drive and we ended up here, I wasn’t surprised. His thinking place. His temporary solace.

“When you look at those lights,” he finally says, voice gruff and eyes fixed ahead, “what do you think of?”

I look at him with a narrowed brow and try to figure out where he’s going with this. We’ve been up here dozens of times, and this is the first time he’s ever asked me that.

“I think each light tells a story of the person living beneath it.”

He nods slowly and falls silent again for a bit. “You know what I think? I think each one of those lights represents someone’s dream. Sometimes they flicker and fade and die out, and other times they grow brighter and stay lit forever.”

I startle at his statement, finding his thoughts to be quite profound. “I like that,” I say softly and lean my head gently on his shoulder.

Grant points to the far west where the skyline is lit up with lights. “What dream does that sparkle over there represent for you?” he asks.

“There are thousands of them.” I laugh. “How do I know which one you’re pointing at?”

“Just pick one.”

I do as he says and stare at it for a beat before I answer. “Wings Out. That’s definitely Wings Out because it’s the brightest one.”