Page 14 of My Fiancé's Brother

He smiled at me. “No offense taken.”

I cleared my throat and tried to be serious again. “Doesn’t navy meant boats and water?”

“We specialize. We’re part of the navy, but we also engage in the water, in the air, and on land.”

“You fly a plane?”

“No. I jump out of them.”

“Oh.” I had a vision of him running and leaping out the back of a plane. The thought made my heart want to stop.

“That sounds scary.”

“It’s a rush.”

I did not understand this mentality. There were two kinds of people in this world. The ones who did all the adrenaline seeking adventures like rock climbing and sky-diving and then there was the other group of people that stood on the ground with their hands over their mouths, watching in horror. I was definitely in the second group. The less adrenaline I had rushing through my body, the better.

“How can you even make yourself jump out of a plane? Doesn’t that go against everything your mind is telling you?”

“We learn to control our responses to things like fear and pain.”

I had no idea what he meant by that. “How can anyone control their body’s response to that?”

“We’re trained to become comfortable in uncomfortable situations.”

This morning I had been so scared I had passed out. My fear had overtaken my body.

“So I guess you don’t faint when you get scared.”

“No.”

Our eyes met over the table.

“I’ve never fainted before.”

“I’ve never had anyone faint in my arms before.”

My face got hot. I was breaking records today for the number of times I could blush.

“So, what do you do?” He broke the tension between us.

I hated this question. People got so judgy about careers. It was an automatic way to size someone up. I had dreams, even if I didn’t have a big fancy career like some of my friends. Besides, I liked what I did. “I work part-time in an art gallery.”

“Are you a painter?”

Surprise rippled through me. Most people asked me which artgallery. And then they wanted to know what I did for the art gallery. Was I a curator or a collections manager? Did I do marketing and fundraising? No one ever wanted to hear that I was just an assistant. And they never asked me if I was one of the artists.

“I like to paint but just in my spare time. At the gallery, I help sell the work of real artists.”

“Did you paint the paintings in the loft?”

I felt embarrassed to admit that the art on the walls was my own. “Yes.”

“You seem like a real artist to me.”

No one since my grandma had ever called me a real artist. This man could have no idea how much his words had just impacted me. I shook my head. “No. I just do that for fun.”

Green eyes studied me.

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