Into the Fire

This is from my new Work in Progress tentatively titled Then . . . you. "He's a recluse. She's seeking refuge."

From Chapter 18 

He sat in front of his array of monitors and electronic equipment, waiting for a download to complete, fidgeting with his favorite pen in one hand and squeezing a resistance ball in the other, staring at nothing. Maybe, and he admitted to himself right then that there was no “maybe” about it, the arrival of this woman into his life was no coincidence. The fact that he didn’t shut the door on her, drenched and afraid, gave evidence that deep down inside him he still had a beating heart willing to give a portion of himself to help someone. Because before she showed up on his porch, he sincerely had his doubts.

     If ever he was wired to do certain things, if there really was such a thing as a hero-complex, he’d confess to having one. And she played right into his fantasy of being that guy, the one who saved the beauty from the beast. And without even trying she pushed all the right buttons with her perceptive comments and deeply affirming and truly respectful compliments. That emptiness he carried around like a too-heavy trophy? When he opened his door to her and led her down the hall to his bathroom, when she paced before the fireplace admitting to her “clichéd” relationship with a dude, that stupid overweight trophy he’d been hoisting started sliding off his drooping shoulders and morphed into a battle shield and sword.

     Ping! “Download Complete” Work, man. Keep your head on straight.

Father, only you provide inspiration and words. Apart from you, I can do nothing. Thank you is never enough. In the Name of Jesus, Amen.