Baden (Pittsburgh Titans 1)

Instead, he spoke my fears out loud. “I totally get it. Parking garages can be dark, and given you were attacked in a parking lot, that’s a lot to ask anyone to tackle. But I have a solution. Pull up to the front of the Fairview, and I’ll pay for the valet. I’ll wait outside for you. Easy as that.”

He obviously couldn’t see me, but his kindness brought tears to my eyes. I swallowed hard and replied, “Okay, then. I’ll see you at noon.”

As I approach the Fairview’s semicircular valet drive, a handful of people are standing outside. My eyes roam frantically for Baden. I know deep in my bones that if he’s not standing there, I’m most likely going to drive by and head home.

I spent months in therapy, my counselor reiterating that my fears were genuine and nothing to be ashamed of. They were a result of trauma. But at this moment, where I’m already planning my escape route, I know I’m being absolutely irrational.

Just as he promised, Baden is standing outside the lobby doors talking to one of the valets. He sees me pull up, recognizing me behind the wheel, and gives a brilliant smile.

Oddly, my pulse slows in relief he’s there, and I release a long exhale. But just as quickly, it picks back up again in recognition of what an extraordinarily handsome man he is. I’m not sure if it’s because he’s standing there waiting for me so I won’t be afraid, or the way he looks that’s pushing my buttons. He’s got on a pair of jeans, a dark-navy pea coat to ward off the cold, and black suede chukkas. Casual yet fashionable with his gentlemanly ways and dark hair perfectly swept back, I can’t help but think he’s the stuff white knights are made of.

As I swing into the circular drive, I berate myself for even thinking about Baden as a white knight.

Not that he isn’t. More like he was. As in the past. He saved me once, and I don’t need him to save me again.

Except for this one occasion where he’s waiting for me so I don’t have to park in a garage.

The valet opens my door, Baden standing at his side. He pushes money into the man’s hand as I step out.

Baden grins at me. “Hi.”

“Hi,” I reply, unable to contain my own smile.

Baden shivers and grimaces. “It’s going to take me a while to get used to cold weather again.”

“Again?” I ask as Baden takes my hand and tucks it into the crook of his arm. It’s such a charming move, but what I notice most is that I feel secure and safe.

“I’m from Montreal, so we’re no strangers to cold weather. And I played in Buffalo,” he explains as we walk toward the lobby door. “But I got spoiled in Arizona, I guess.”

We reach the revolving door, and I precede Baden inside. When he’s spit out behind me, I take a moment to appreciate the beautiful interior. I’ve never stayed at the Fairview, but I’ve been here one other time for dinner. The gleaming lobby is all marble, leather, and chrome, and a granite fireplace has been built into a wall beside the concierge desk.

But what I love best about this hotel is their mascot who freely roams—a pittie-boxer mix named Orbie who was rescued by the hotel’s general manager. He brings Orbie to work each day, and he’s become the official hotel ambassador.

Orbie approaches with a wagging stubby tail, and I crouch to give him a scratch behind the ears. Baden mimics my actions and calls the dog by name, which means they’ve already met.

We straighten, and he says, “The biggest benefit to this hotel. A dog in the lobby to greet you.”

“I imagine with as many hotels as you stay in during the year, you have a variety of perks made available to you.”

Baden leads me toward the staircase that goes up to the restaurant. “I’ve indeed had many perks at a variety of luxury hotels, and I can undoubtedly say having a dog in the lobby is the best.”

“So, you’re a dog fan?”

“I’m an any animal fan,” he explains as we ascend. I note that while Baden’s gait seems normal, he holds on to the rail for support. “But dogs are my favorite. We had them growing up, but my lifestyle isn’t conducive to having one now. Too much travel.”

“I know what you mean.”

Baden doesn’t say more, and our pace slows slightly. It seems to take more effort the last few steps, and I resist the urge to ask if he’s okay. He’s clearly still battling in his recovery, and I don’t want to embarrass him.

Not that he should be embarrassed. Seven months ago, he was paralyzed from the waist down. I hardly think a struggle to take a flight of stairs is anything to be ashamed of, but I’m not sure how Baden’s psyche holds up under scrutiny, so I chatter away. “When I was working as a medical training rep, I traveled all the time. Otherwise, I would’ve totally had a dog. We also had them growing up—a cocker spaniel and a husky, but I think if I get another dog one day, I’ll get a lab or a golden retriever. My friend Frankie has a lab, and he’s awesome.”