Bittersweet (The Calvettis of New York 4)

The sounds of the city surround us, but they don’t bite through me the way they usually do.

I love New York. I’ve lived here since I was born, but there are moments when I’m not fond of the bustle. I sometimes long for peace. I’m able to find that in a pair of earbuds. When I need a break, I listen to music, strictly classical.

It’s one of the things about me that surprises people, but I sense it wouldn’t surprise Afton.

“What kind of music do you like?”

My question pulls her gaze to me.

Jesus.

In this lighting, she’s a vision. The color of her eyes is more vivid and the curve of her lips more pronounced because of the shadows cast on her.

“You’ll laugh.” She chuckles. “Everyone laughs when I tell them.”

I lean an elbow on the table and lower my voice. “That’s because they don’t understand the lure of the classics. Beethoven was a genius. Bach was brilliant.”

As she studies me, she runs a finger over her bottom lip. “Are you a mind reader?”

Chuckling, I shake my head. “A fellow classical music die-hard.”

Her finger continues its path along those lips I’m fucking aching to kiss.

“We have a lot in common,” I point out, tearing my gaze away from her face to look at the glass in front of me.

“I’ve never met someone like you,” she whispers.

I can say the same about her. She’s different than anyone I’ve ever known. If pressed, I’d say she’s the opposite of Brooklyn.

Brook loved loud parties. She hated classical music and wasn’t a fan of what I do for a living.

She would often say that she hated my job because she was worried for my well-being when I went running into burning buildings, but I sense it had a hell of a lot more to do with the size of my paycheck.

Afton takes a sip from her glass. I do the same.

I know I should hit the road since it’s getting late, but I’d sit here all night next to her if she’d let me.

I find comfort in her presence. I can’t explain it. Maybe I don’t need to. Maybe this connection I feel to her can’t be summed up in a sentence or two. It goes beyond that.

A siren in the distance breaks through the silence.

My back stiffens the way it always does when I hear the unmistakable sound of a fire engine on the approach.

Afton glances at me. “Have you ever been afraid?”

So many fucking times that I’ve lost count. Never on the job, though. My fears have always been personal and based in my concern about the people I love.

“At work?” I ask to clarify.

She nods.

“Fear doesn’t have room when you’re on a call,” I explain. “At least not for me. Adrenaline kicks in as soon as I have all my gear on. I want to help. I’m trained to help, so that’s where my mind is.”

Her gaze searches my face. “Have you ever been hurt on the job?”

My eyes trail along the strings of white lights above us. “A few times.”

“Seriously hurt?”

I tap my wrist. “A broken wrist. I had a couple of cracked ribs.”

“Ouch.” Her brow furrows.

I rest my forearm on the table. “I burned myself when I ran into a house off-duty. I have a scar to remind me of it.”

She inches closer to me until her breath skirts over the skin of my arm as she studies the small scar. “The house was on fire?”

“A pot on the stove was.”

Her gaze leaps up to my face. “You saved the day, didn’t you?”

I take credit when I earn it, so I nod. “I put the fire out.”

Her full lips edge up toward a smile. “You’re a hero.”

She’s close enough that it would take a tilt of my head to press my lips to hers. I’ve never wanted to kiss a woman more. I’ve never craved a woman this much.

The sound of the siren intensifies as it nears us.

My instinct is to get up, race out the door and track down the crew. I’ll know them. I may be able to lend a hand in some way, although I’m off-duty.

“You want to go help, don’t you?” she asks quietly. “You feel a pull to go help.”

Smiling, I heave out a sigh. “It’s part of the job.”

“No.” Her hand moves to cover mine on the table. “I think it’s a part of you. I think you’re the kind of man who would help out anyone in trouble.”

My gaze drops to our hands. “We all need help sometimes. It’s good to know there are people out there willing to lend a hand.”

Her lips part briefly before she speaks. “Do you need help, Luke?”

“Do I?” I question back because I swear to fuck we’re heading down a road toward something more than friendship.

She edges back slightly. “You haven’t mentioned Brooklyn lately. I’ve been wondering if you’ve spoken to her.”