Page 36 of Home Safe

I make an exaggerated grimace when she raises her eyebrows. “You caught me,” I say. “This is my default dinner spot. The arrival of a professional athlete here isn’t unusual enough to draw a lot of attention from the other guests. They’re used to people with higher profiles than me eating here. So it’s sort of a safe place to come.”

“And you’re friends with the whole staff,” Danae adds, her smile teasing.

“And I’m friends with the whole staff,” I agree with a laugh. “It’s nice to come here and feel like I’m catching up with a bunch of old friends each time. Not navigating a social circus.”

Danae nods in understanding then purses her lips. “I came here countless times with my family—well, here and other comparablerestaurants. But my parents weren’t coming here to fly under the radar or to get to know the employees. It was all about being seen for them.”

She looks so conflicted that I can no longer resist the urge to touch her. I place a hand lightly over hers just long enough to say, “You don’t have to tell me more. But if you want to, know that anything you say is safe with me.”

Her eyes are locked on the physical contact of our hands, but as soon as I move my hand away, she meets my gaze. “My dad is a financial planner for high-net-worth individuals,” Danae says. “He didn’t grow up particularly wealthy but had a knack for good investment strategies, so he climbed the ranks at every financial planning firm he worked for. Which was exactly his goal—climbing the social ladder.

“He was never content with what we had, even when it was a lot. He wanted more. More money, more social connections, more status symbols. We bought a home in Mission Hills when I was in high school, and that only made things worse. Because we were the new money in the old money section of town, so Dad had even more to prove. Everything about our lives was orchestrated to move our family up the social food chain—including my dating life,” Danae says, voice tightening.

I’m staring at her, hanging on her every word. I’m grateful that she’s not making eye contact right now to see the way my mouth is hanging open.What kind of father does that to his daughter? To his family?

“My parents expected me to be the trophy wife for Tyler, the son of one of my dad’s big clients, to solidify our place in high society. They ‘indulged’ my desire to get a degree in education, not thinking I would put it to use,” she says, emphasizing the statement with air quotes and an eye roll. “At first, I felt like I had no choice but to play along with the game. But the more education classes I took, the more I knew I wanted to teach for real. When I graduated college, applied for my teaching license, and broke up with Tyler all within the span of a week, well . . . let’s just say our communication dropped to almost nothing.”

I’m speechless. Usually, it’s not hard for me to immediately come up with the right words to say in any given conversation. It’s like a superpower.

But my superpower is short-circuiting. Because I’m still silently staring when Danae finally makes eye contact again. She shrugs. “You’ll receive zero criticism if you decide to run away screaming,” she says. Her parroting of my words cuts through my brain fog.

I reach across the table to take her hand in mine, gently rubbing my thumb against her palm. “I’m not screaming. And not running away. Quite the opposite.”

“So you’re a glutton for trauma?” she says. Her tone is joking, but there’s a kernel of serious inquiry behind it.

I shake my head slowly. “Not a fan of trauma in the slightest. I’ve seen too much of its negative effects to be attracted to it. But I suppose I’ve been adjacent to it for enough of my life to have the deepest respect for the people who fight their way through it, day in and day out. Even though it lasts a lifetime. And I have so much respect for you being willing to walk with Jason through his when you have your own baggage to carry.”

Danae’s eyes brim with unshed tears as she fights the quiver in her chin.

Squeezing her hand firmly, I say, “Look, Danae, I like you. I like you even more now than I did coming into tonight. But regardless of what happens or doesn’t happen between us romantically, I’m here for you to lean on as you navigate all of this. And I know Sam is all in too. We understand firsthand how much support you’re going to need as you continue moving forward with Jason. Sam and I are here for you however we can be, even if our relationship winds up being only friendship.”

She squeezes my hand back, and I look at her with a wry smile. “But, in case that was confusing, allow me to clarify that I’d very much like to be more than just your friend.”

Everything Danae has shared tonight only confirms my instinct about her—that she’s exactly the type of woman I could be attracted to for the long term. Not only attracted to . . . possibly fall in love with. She’s genuine and down to earth. She’s passionate and tender-hearted. It’s not hard to picture the future with her, and it’s certainly not hard to get lost in the forest of her green eyes and the soothing timbre of her voice.

I’m suddenly picturing myself coming home from a day of training and finding Danae and Jason playing a game on the back porch. I’d walk over and wrap my arms around her, maybe gently kiss her neck while inhaling the scent of her hair. She’d look up at me with those gorgeous eyes, and I wouldn’t resist dropping my lips to hers. I’d sit down and pull Danae onto my lap, snuggling her closer to me. She’d lean her head against my shoulder, and I’d massage my fingers against her scalp while I listened to Jason share what he did at school that day.

The vision is so real, I can almost reach out and touch the image in my mind.

Danae’s laugh breaks through her tears and snaps me out of my runaway daydream. She smiles at me when she says, “I’m starting to think I might want to be more than just your friend too.”

Chapter seventeen

Danae

Ican’t even believe how much more relaxed I feel on the drive home versus the drive to dinner. After Griffin’s demeanor dissipated my initial anxiety about the date, his thoughtful conversation completely put to rest the lingering hesitations I had about him.

Without question, I like the man.

Which is a revelation I’m positive I will pick to pieces with apprehensive, imagined future scenarios all night. Good thing tomorrow is still the weekend since I don’t foresee much sleep happening tonight.

But for these few moments on the drive home, I’m going to embrace the giddy, kick-my-feet hormones flooding my system.

Griffin somehow managed to strike the perfect balance of personal questions and lighthearted banter over dinner. I haven’t felt that comfortable talking about myself since . . . well, maybe ever.

How did he do that?Come to think of it, I barely learned anything about him. He kept me so at ease talking about my life—my hopes, my likes and dislikes—that I hardly asked him anything.

I look over at him in the driver’s seat. His profile is striking in the near-darkness, and my pulse picks up steam remembering how thisveryattractive man declared he wants to be my “more than friend.”

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