Chapter 22

[Pear]

The tears fall once I’m in the shower, then I scold myself. I’d done this to myself. I’d lied and everything backfired.

I’d fallen in love with him and now he hates me.

With shaky limbs, I pack my suitcase, picking up the twelve days of letting loose I had at the farm. Dad will want to talk, and cleaning is an anxious habit. If I can’t straighten out my life, at least I can straighten up my belongings.

When I head to the front room, preparing to pick up the reminder of yesterday, I stumble when I see the blankets are folded and set on the couch with the pile of pillows we used. Plus, the dining chairs are returned to their proper place around the table. Our clothing is conspicuously missing, and I glance toward the fire, re-ignited to a low flame inside the fireplace.

Dad probably burned the evidence of my transgression.

Suddenly, the front door opens, and Brock steps into the entry way. He stomps his boots before looking up at me, where I’ve frozen in the middle of the living room.

Our gazes lock for a minute.

“I’m driving you to Chicago.”

My mouth falls open, but the front door opens a second time, and Dad walks in, clapping his glove-covered hands.

My gaze leaps to him. He glances from me to Brock and back.

“He said he’s driving me to Chicago,” I state but my dad doesn’t look as stunned as I am. “Maybe I should stay.” My nerves rattle within me. “We should talk.”

Dad observes me a long moment before removing his gloves and shucking off his jacket. “I’ll see you soon in Chicago.”

What? I stare from one man to the next. My dad removes his boots and swipes off his cap, like he’s settling in to stay. Brock remains standing by the door, fully dressed, prepared to leave .

“Gonna get your things?” Brock asks me, his tone a bit terse.

I look from him to my dad, who’s fighting a grin. When he looks up at me, he shakes his head with an expression that says, see what I have to deal with .

The choice is mine. Stay or go? Hide my heart or follow it?

Turning back for my room, I quickly collect my suitcase and tote and return to the living room. Brock steps forward and takes the case, then heads toward the front door so he doesn’t drip snow all over the floor.

I step up to my dad, offering him a hug and muttering, “What’s happening?”

“I think I’ll let him explain.” Dad presses a kiss to my temple and pulls back, holding me arm’s length away from him. His eyes are full of emotion. “You’re a beautiful, intelligent woman. And I trust you.”

He glances over his shoulder at Brock. “And I can’t believe I’m saying this aloud, but I trust him.”

Brock tips up his chin, a smirk twisting his lips. He doesn’t look at me and turns for the door, holding it open.

I slip into my coat and boots and lead him outside. Once there, Brock opens the passenger door of his truck, setting my suitcase behind the seat.

Somehow, I’d missed that a plow made one sweep up our drive and back to the road in the distance, which looks relatively clean despite yesterday’s blizzard.

“What’s happening right now?” The angry tension spiraling around Brock is not reassuring me that I should ride anywhere with him despite my father’s faith in his fellow firefighter.

“You’re getting in the truck.” He stands back and holds the edge of the open door, essentially trapping me from escape although I don’t know where I’d run. “And I’m driving us back to Chicago.”

“Is this wise?” I question.

“Don’t think you’re in a position to question things right now, snowflake. Get. In. The. Truck.” While the words are terse, his tone isn’t aggressive. Hurt maybe. Confused. Irritated but not frightening.

I climb in the truck, and he shuts my door.

As soon as Brock enters his side, my mouth falls open. “Can I just say—”

“Nope.”

“But I want to—”

“No.”

“Brock.”

The cab of the truck is warm, the engine already running. Continuing to ignore me, Brock puts the truck in reverse and cautiously backs up.

“Fireman,” I drone.

Brock presses the brakes hard. The truck jolts to a halt. His eyes close a second before popping open and leveling me with a smoldering glare.

“We’re not going to talk. Not yet. I need a coffee. You need hot chocolate. Then, we’re going to hit the road.”

He’s telling me he’s mad, but he’s offering to buy me a hot chocolate.

I’m so confused but I roll with it as we pull down the drive and enter the local highway heading in the direction of Chicago.

+ + +

Nearly an hour passes before I can’t take the tense silence in the truck any longer.

“I’m sorry,” I blurt. “It was wrong. It was deceitful. I don’t know what came over me. And I’m sorry.”

Brock doesn’t respond.

“What happened with my dad?” They’d clearly had a chat outside while I was in the shower and then in my room.

“Nope,” he snaps.

“Brock, at least tell me he didn’t let you go from the department. ”

Brock twists his lips before scratching underneath his chin. He hits the blinker on his truck and pulls off the highway into a rest stop. Parked at the back of the lot, he shifts in his seat.

“Explain this to me.” His eyes narrow and he rests his arm on the back of the seat. “You trick me into staying at the house. Give me twelve days of tasks. And now you’re worried about me losing my position with the fire department.”

Startled by his soft tone but confused expression, I take a deep breath before saying, “I was always worried about your position. After twelve days, I thought I’d be able to tell Dad you did all these things around the place to help him out and he’d forgive you. I didn’t plan for more to happen. I just thought it’d be nice to have some company while Dad was gone. And if he trusted you, I could trust you.”

“Or my balls would be chestnuts roasting over an open fire.”

I grimace. “Yeah, well, that was a little harsh.”

“What was harsh was hearing you tell your dad you were falling for me, but you haven’t said that to me.”

I stare at him surprised by the wounded expression that takes over his face. He turns away from me, draping his wrist over the steering wheel, and stares out the windshield.

“You know, if you’d only asked me to stay, I would have.”

“You were too eager to leave. Then you demanded to stay.”

He harrumphs, knowing I’m right.

“However, I should have told you, you no longer needed to.”

We remain silent a second. The heater is the only sound humming between us.

Finally, he speaks. “I didn’t do all those things for nothing, though.”

“Dad said you are cleared with the department?” My voice rises, hopeful and relieved. Dad couldn’t possibly fire Brock for my decision.

Brock turns his gaze back to me. “Has nothing to do with your dad. I’d have done those things for you. I’d feed you, by canning pears, and keep you warm, by chopping logs. Do anything you would have asked me, if you’d only told me the truth, instead of making me think I had to do those things. Had to do them for Cap, and the department, and myself, but not because you wanted me to do them.” His gaze drops to my lips. “All you had to say was you wanted me to take care of you.”

Did he want to take care of me?

“How do you ask a stranger such a thing?” I admit, lowering my voice, embarrassed again by what I say next. “I was lonely.” I’d already admitted it but it’s uncomfortable to confess again. And like I’d already said to him, he seemed lonely as well. I shrug hesitantly and fiddle with the edge of my zipper at the hem of my winter jacket. “I just thought we could be lonely together.”

Brock continues to watch me, but I don’t look up. I’ve opened myself up to him in more ways than giving him my body. Slowly, I glance over at him.

“I wasn’t trying to seduce you. I didn’t intend to fall for you. I just—”

Brock leans across the seat and cups the back of my neck. “I’m still mad at you.”

Confusion hits at the same time his mouth does, kissing me on a rush that draws me toward him, desperate to keep our connection. His lips move, hard and possessive. Anger lashes from his tongue. His teeth nip my lower lip. The kiss is my punishment.

Only, I don’t feel punished when he pulls back and sets his forehead against mine.

“You once tried to throw something at me.” He chuckles as we both recall me tossing a wadded piece of sandpaper at him. “But I didn’t see this coming. You threw me a curveball with what you did.”

I swallow a heavy lump in my throat, blinking back tears of shame.

“So, in the future, if you’re going to toss something in my direction, snowflake, I want it to be your heart. And I promise to catch it. Treasure it. Keep it safe. And never leave.”

“What?” I whisper, unable to hold back more tears.

Brock takes a deep breath after his admission, then kisses my forehead. “Now you owe me.”

“What?” I chuckle soggily, trying to process what he’s said. Am I forgiven ?

And he feels the same about me as I do him.

“I’ve earned twelve more days, and only one way to prove I’m all in with you. I’m taking you to my place and introducing you to my kids.”

Holy Christmas gift . Not exactly what I expected him to say, but I don’t argue. Instead, I say, “Thank you. For giving me a second chance.”

Brock smirks. “My boss said you deserve it.”

Dad?

Then he adds, “My heart wants one with you as well.”