Kevin exits the elevator, and when I step out next to him, he turns to me. “I’ll be in touch soon. Okay?”
“Yes. Okay. Sounds good.” I’m trying to get my bearings. Children are running by me in fast blurs and the screams of joy are deafening. My mind is racing, searching for answers, while I notice a waterfall wall behind the reception desk with Holt Enterprises written in silver bold letters across it. There are offices to both the left and right, but the greater difference than the floor below is the laughter flowing throughout the hallway. Clowns, magicians, and other entertainers are in the reception area, bouncy screaming children surrounding them.
“You’re late.”
The low voice spiraling down my spine sends a shiver along with it, and I spin around to face smoky eyes, instantly reminded I almost kissed Micah last night in a moment of weakness. “I never got the invitation,” I tell him.
One brow lifts. “No one told you about Holt’s Day?”
“No, it wasn’t mentioned.” My stomach clenches, heat instantly pooling low in my body, kicking my nerve endings into overdrive. It’s his eyes; they get me every damn time. They hold secrets and dark promises, and they’re wreaking havoc on my control. “But I’m here now,” I continue. “So, what exactly is Holt’s Day?”
“It’s my charity.” He smiles.
“Holt’s Hope?”
“You’ve heard of it?”
“Just recently, in fact.” From the softness of his expression, I can tell this charity means something to him. That softness does something so strange to me. It’s like a pull of energy, sucking me right in, making me want to be closer to him. It’s powerful. It’s strange. If I’m being honest, it scares me a little.
Three screaming children holding balloons run by me, breaking my eye contact with him. I smile at them before turning to Micah again. “How often do you bring the kids here?”
Micah pauses to examine me, staring at my mouth. I think he likes my smile. His eyes intensify whenever he sees it. “Every month the kids come in for the morning and we bring in entertainers.” He shoves his hands in his pockets, owning the space so naturally as his gaze is scanning the room. “The clowns are the favorites by far.”
A fluttering feeling swirls in my belly as I listen to him speak. The passion, the sincerity in his tone, it’s another damn surprise. I keep trying to lump him into the spoiled-rich-jerk category, but every time I see him, he’s showing me he doesn’t belong there.
Micah’s brow arches again, awaiting my reply, but my voice freezes. I find myself falling into this thing I see past the confidence he projects. There’s a certain kindness about him I somehow missed and am only now seeing. It’s genuine, and I’m feeling horrible for not noticing it before. “This is a really great thing you do for these kids.”
His smile is slight. “Believe me, I get more out of this than they do.”
The way his eyes go unfocused, as if lost in some dark memory, tells me he’s a deeper man than I took him to be. There in the depths of his commanding eyes, I see a grave sadness exuding from him, telling me this charity is personal for him. I have no idea how I know that. I just do.
My throat begins to tighten and I find myself scrambling to ask the right question or to apologize for being hard on him when he didn’t deserve it. I’m not empathetic, but my world is slowing, my chest is squeezing. Now seeing him, somehow I’m feeling his pain, too.
And in this moment his shields are down and his pain is bleeding out of him.
A child stops in front of us and his squeal snaps me into the present. “I got a dog,” the boy says to Micah.
I’m speechless at the warmth reaching Micah’s features when he lowers to one knee and pats the little blond boy on the head. “It’s a very good dog, Cameron.” The child lurches into Micah’s arms, and Micah’s eyes shut, a peace so visible to me reaching his face.
“My mom would like this dog,” the boy says, jumping out of Micah’s arms.
“Yes, I imagine she would,” Micah replies with a soft nod, then asks gently, “What will you name him?”
“Spot.” The boy gives a big grin with loving doe eyes at Micah before hurrying away, screaming at his dog balloon flying high in the air, “Spot, the wonder dog!”
Micah glances up as he rises and gives me the softest expression, so contradictory to the power he possesses. “Cameron’s mother passed away six months ago from lung cancer.”
I take that in for a moment, glancing around the space, seeing all these happy children, realizing what Micah does for them—the happiness he brings to them after they’ve gone through far too much. “How very sad,” I tell Micah, understanding these kids myself. I wasn’t as young when my parents died, but something inside changes when you lose your parents before you’re an adult yourself. For everyone it’s different, but for me, it taught me how short life is and to never waste a second of it.
Be true to yourself, and for cripes’ sake, do what makes you happy, whatever that might be—that’s my motto.
“It is sad,” Micah agrees. “I have a team here at Holt that reaches out to psychologists to find kids that need us.” A long heavy breath escapes him before he gives a tender smile. “Cameron’s doing much better now. He’s settling back into school and we’ve got him involved in some after-school sports.”
He’s not looking at me when he says that; he’s staring after Cameron, and there’s longing in his face—heartache too, for sure. I can only assume that Micah has felt what Cameron has, because that look, that pain on his face, that shared memory cannot be faked.
I should know. I’ve felt it, too.
He turns to me then and my breath catches in my throat. Micah is intensity, power, and heavy emotion, and it’s all-consuming, weaving over me like a warm blanket that I need.