Once we sat down, it was easy to forget about anyone else and focus solely on my fake date. Joseph became the one constant. Paying attention to him and no one else seemed to calm me. Even though he should have had the opposite effect.

“Tell me about your work at the hospital,” he said as he perused the menu after a “complimentary” appetizer tray was brought out. “Your focus, I mean. You’re in trauma?”

I shook my head. “I am, but that’s not my specialty.”

“What is then?” His fierce eyes met mine and held. “I should know this stuff about my girlfriend,” he added, and I realized then that he didn’t care about me personally. He was only doing his part of the job.

“The burn unit,” I said, feeling confident and proud of my decision. That was, until his expression dropped and he looked down at his pants.

“Is that why you tried to light my junk on fire at the party?”

An annoyed sound escaped my lips. “For the last time, I wasn’t trying to light you on fire.”

“Well, someone was,” he said in response.

I leaned back in my chair, my lips pursed together as I gave him a smug look. “You’re right about that. Someone was.”

He caught on to what I was hinting at instantly, and his mouth twisted into a smirk. “Are you saying that I was trying to light myself on fire?”

“If the shoe fits.”

The waiter chose that moment to walk up and take our drink orders. I still hadn’t looked at the menu long enough to decide and readily agreed when Joseph offered to pick for me. Our waiter disappeared, and Joseph narrowed his gaze on me again.

“So, why the burn unit? What about that drew you to it?” He folded his arms on top of the table, his focus solely on me, as if no one else existed in the room. Hell, the universe. That was how Joseph Martin made you feel when he watched you.

His question was something I thought about every single day. The patches of messed up tissue and skin grafts were all that remained on my body from a night I barely even remembered anymore. I ran my hand across my stomach before deciding that I’d tell him the truth.

“I got burned when I was a kid. My shirt caught on fire, and even though my parents got the fire out fast, I still had really bad burns on my stomach.”

He hadn’t expected that answer. I could tell by the look on his face.

“How did it happen?”

“Fireworks. And some stupid boys from the neighborhood.” I honestly didn’t remember the details anymore and only knew what my parents had told me.

“How old were you?”

“Six.”

He held my stare as he breathed in and out five times. I counted, watching his chest rise and fall before he finally spoke. “Are you scared of fireworks now?”

A small laugh tumbled past my lips. No one had ever asked me that. “No. I enjoy them but only from a safe distance.”