Oh, God. I don’t need this. Not now. She waited for the pang of pain that usually ripped through her lungs at the thought of losing him, but it didn’t come. Instead, a deep sadness swirled in her chest—for herself, for the wasted weeks she’d spent giving him her heart, but also for him. He had no idea how to love a woman.
The brief urge to tell him her thoughts crossed her mind, but the instant realization he was no longer worth her time or energy replaced it. As he gazed at her, he grimaced. Good gosh. Did he just read my mind?
Ben’s chin lifted, his gaze moving high above her head. She frowned. What was he staring at? Twisting toward the building, she craned her neck and looked up. She squinted, trying to comprehend the dark shape she saw.
Her heart stuttered.
Two stories above her, a baby grand piano swayed precariously, the groan of strained metal piercing in the air.
Chapter Five
Andy glanced at his watch, and his pulse jumped. Calista would be walking through the restaurant doors any moment. With a last perusal of the trout almandine, garlic sautéed asparagus, and boiled red potatoes with chives he’d prepared for their lunch, he pulled off his apron and headed toward the front entrance. Damn, his heart was pounding like a jackhammer. He’d shared lots of meals with the dark-haired beauty, but this would be the first that counted as a date.
Well, it did to him, anyway.
He pushed through the doors and strode out onto the sidewalk. The street was busy with the lunchtime crowd bustling about. Turning, he caught sight of her near the corner at the end of the block. Why was she just standing there? He frowned. Was she having second thoughts?
A dark object close to the top of the building she lingered next to captured his attention, and he looked up. Moving men worked to hoist a piano to the third floor. Dread curled in his stomach, and he started walking toward her. As he watched the men struggle, the hairs on his neck prickled, and he increased his pace to a jog. Something wasn’t right.
“Calista,” he called, but a car honked at the same moment.
He stared at the workers, at the contraption they’d rigged to lift the baby grand. His gaze traveled the length of the rope up to the—
Oh, shit. A tendril of gray mist snaked around the pulley at the top—the same smoky vapor he’d seen right before a bus had nearly run them down the day before. The hazy strand reached along the base plate, engulfing the bolts clamping the winch to the building. A metallic groan tore through the air.
Fear gripped Andy’s throat and squeezed. He raked his gaze back down to Calista, who remained stock still, peering up at the behemoth looming above her. Why the hell didn’t she move?
“Calista!”
But she didn’t react. Another damn car horn had eclipsed his yell. Fuck!
He sprinted toward her. The top of the metal plate gave way, and the piano lurched. Workmen shouted.
Almost there. He could make it….
The pulley snapped free with a screech. Andy slammed into Calista, wrapped his arms around her, and crashed against the building’s brick wall.
An ungodly discordant sound exploded behind him. Wood splinters speared the air, and what seemed a thousand razor wires lashed his back. Muffled voices broke through the ringing in his ears, and he opened his eyes to peer into her face.
Fear swirled in her golden gaze. “A-Andy?”
“Right here.” Relief swamped him, and he held her close. “You okay, anything hurt?”
She trembled, her shudders rippling along his body. “I-I’m okay.” Her breath blew warm but shaky on his neck. “You?”
He hesitated. “Uh, no. Not so much. There’s a baby grand wedged against my back.”
***
Calista set the dirty lunch plates in her sink and turned to watch Andy amble to the couch. Two hours had passed since the piano fiasco, and he seemed to be moving much better than when the workers had first moved away the wreckage that had once been a baby grand.
Angry, red scrapes marred the backs of his arms and calves, but he seemed okay. She couldn’t know for sure—he’d refused to let her look beneath his tattered shirt or go to the ER. Instead, he’d insisted they go to the restaurant to grab the meal he’d prepared. His gritted words and stiff movements had done little to disguise his pain, so she’d steered him to his car and suggested they take the food to her place.
For the second time in the last twenty-four hours, he’d saved her life. She dried her hands on the dishtowel and, setting it on the counter, moved to gaze at him through the doorway. The man had been amazing in action—appearing out of nowhere and shielding her body with his. What else might he be good at?
Time to find out.