Page 60 of Between Hello and Goodbye

I wasn’t picky.

But either I was overestimating my sex appeal, or the man was a rock; I passed by untouched, and we got into his Jeep without saying a word.

As we headed north, I let my gaze slide over Asher as he drove with controlled skill along the winding forest highway. He’d dressed up too. My firefighter looked devastating in a lightweight black jacket over a white T-shirt and dark pants. His wardrobe, I’d noticed, was casual but not cheap. No jeans—denim was too heavy for Hawaii—but all high-quality items, likely made from sustainable material.

But Asher’s clothing was mostly notable for how much I wanted to tear it off of him.

Jesus, he’s a beautiful beast of a man. How have I not seen him naked?

Because of my Number One Rule. Asher respected my flimsy boundaries—boundaries that I was mentally tearing down every second I spent with him.

The restaurant was Italian and elegantly dark and posh—a slice of city in the middle of the rainforest. No doubt he’d chosen it for me, but it just served to remind me that I had four days left, three of which he’d be working.

“You don’t like it?” he asked, studying my frown as we were seated at a romantic table for two near a window with views of the ocean under a sunset in hues of purple and tangerine.

“No, I love it. It’s perfect.” I refused to think about my departure, so I steered the conversation away as we perused the menu. “So I was thinking of ourTitanicdiscussion earlier.”

He rolled his eyes with his adorably irritated expression I’d come to love.

Too much. I love it too much.

“And?” he prompted.

“I was just wondering how you came to work in a field that’s all about saving lives. Like, the chicken or the egg—did you always have this heroic streak, or did you acquire it with the job?”

He frowned. “Heroic…”

“Don’t argue with me, firefighter. Heroism is in the actual job title.” I propped my elbows on the table. “So?”

Asher shrugged. “I don’t know. I had to take care of my brother a lot when we were young. My parents…”

“Were out of the picture,” I said gently, remembering his earlier explanation.

“More or less,” he said. “When I left New York for Kauai, I wasn’t sure what I wanted to do. But in my mind, Hawaii had always felt like a place where people vacationed. I wasn’t on a vacation. I needed todosomething.”

“Something worthwhile?”

He nodded. “I’d always been pretty good at numbers. I leveraged that skill on Wall Street to make some cash and got the hell out. But I wasn’t retired. It’s not like I could afford to sit on my ass and play golf for the rest of my life, and even if I could, it wouldn’t be enough.” He shrugged again. “The service just seemed to fit.”

“Like a calling.”

“I guess so.”

I was adept enough at reading people—and Asher specifically—to know that there was much more to his story, but he wasn’t ready to spill. Or he didn’t want to spill it to me.

“What about you?” he asked, after the waiter took our order. “What drew you to advertising?”

“What made me want tokeep the capitalist machine rolling?” I asked with a smile.

His frown deepened. “I shouldn’t have said that. It’s just that advertising feels like it belongs with everything I left behind and never want to return to. Big cities, consumerism…all that stuff.”

“All that stuff that I love. We’re very different in that way,” I said, my smile tilting and a sinking feeling settling in my chest. I glanced up at him. “Do you reallyneverwant to live somewhere more…exciting?”

He shook his head slowly. “I’ve doneexciting.I don’t think it’s good for me.”

I nodded, the sinking feeling becoming a leaden ball.

There you have it. He’s here, I’m there, and that’s the end of the story.