Page 74 of Resisting Fate
“You’re kind of like your own superheroine.”
“I guess I am.” She beamed and squeezed his arm. “And with your superhero complex, always wanting to rush to the rescue and fix everything, that makes us a good team.”
He narrowed his eyes. “I hear an insult hiding in there.”
“No, really, it’s good,” she insisted. “We’re both competent people who like to help others.”
“But…” He waited for the insult part.
She smiled to soften the blow. “But maybe you could help a little less, and I could ask for help once in a while.”
“Okay. So…you think I’m a superhero?”
“Sure, in a way.”
He relaxed. “Finally, she gets it.”
“Arrogant much?”
“Uh, yeah. It comes from knowing I’m right.”
“Uh-huh. So you say.”
He glanced over at her; a small smile played over her lips. “Don’t tell me you still think I’m Mr. Wrong.” She’d called him that back when he hadn’t recognized her with her red hair dyed brown. A play on his name, Mr. Wright.
Her lashes fluttered down. “No,” she said softly. “I don’t think that anymore.”
His chest puffed with pride. “Say it, woman.”
“You’re Mr. Wright,” she droned good-naturedly.
“I’m your Mr. Right and I don’t mean my last name.”
She gave him one of her soft smiles. “Yes.”
He spoke around the lump in his throat, his voice gruff. “Thank you.”
She let out a soft sigh. “I’m going to call my brother-in-law about my car. One of his guys will pick it up and take care of it.”
“Sothatguy you call for help.”
She rolled her eyes. “He owns a garage.” She gave him a playful jab. “Don’t worry, I’ll find something for Super Ben to do one day.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
“I will! Promise. How about tonight you rub my feet for me? That would be a real help.”
“Okay, but, fair warning, my hands will wander.”
She laughed. “I was counting on that.”
She pulled out her phone and arranged for her car to be taken care of, then closed her eyes and fell asleep. He wasn’t too surprised, it was dark out, the car was warm, and she’d been up since five working like a dog. He turned the volume up on the radio, singing along to “I’ll be Home for Christmas” in a low sleep-friendly tone, thinking of how much he wanted to bring Missy with him for Christmas dinner at his grandmother’s house. Christmas Eve would be just for them.
After he pulled into his garage, he turned off the car, considering carrying Missy to bed when she suddenly lurched upright. “Where am I?” she asked, sounding alarmed. “What time is it?”
“You’re at my house,” he said in a soothing tone. “It’s close to nine.”
She relaxed. “Oh. Sorry. Sometimes I startle awake if something feels off. A reflex from when I didn’t feel safe from one day to the next.”
