But yet . . . my phone rings a third time.

He’s hardheaded . . . and dammit, that makes him even more attractive to me. So I hit the green button on my screen, bringing the phone up to my ear.

“Uh, hello?” I say hesitantly.

“Zo, you okay?” Blake asks, urgent concern making it all one word.

“Yeah. Fine. Why?” I say, nervously brushing my hair behind my ear because I always let my hair out at home and for some reason, I don’t want him to think of me as a mess.

“Why?” Blake repeats on a huffed laugh. “Because it sounded like you were getting attacked and then the call disconnected. And then you didn’t answer. I was afraid you were getting mauled by a bear or something!”

I snort out a tiny laugh of disbelief. “A bear? We don’t have bears around here.”

He sighs in exasperation, and it makes me smile. “I know, but that’s not the point. Are you okay?”

He’s actually worried about me, a sensation I haven’t felt in so long that I relish it like a double rainbow or a four-leaf clover. But where he’s calming down, I can feel my entire body thrumming, tuning into his voice.

“I’m good. Just dropped the phone and some of my dinner. Oh, and a pillow.” I put my plate of chicken on the table to reach for the pillow and the fork clatters to the table top.

“What was that?” Blake asks, on alert again.

“A fork,” I tell him. “I’m a mess, but, uh . . . hi?” My voice is too high, too tight, too unsure. I feel like a teenage girl for some reason.

“Hi, Zoey,” he says, cool, calm, and collected.

And flirty.

His voice is deep, hitting me in all sorts of places that a simple greeting shouldn’t be able to do. Despite my best efforts, I’m smiling, even biting my lip a little. “Hi, Mr. Hale.”

I’m not being cute or playing kinky with the mister thing. I’ve got no ‘daddy issues’ in this regard at all. To the contrary, I’m trying hard to put some distance between us because I need it desperately before my body gets carried away with ideas like ‘maybe this time will be different’. It won’t, it never is, and I need to forget the idea that it might be. No dating, no connections.

The more alone I am, the better off everyone is. I can handle the isolation to protect them.

“Blake,” he corrects me again, and I know what he wants. Silence stretches as I debate whether I should give in, but my mouth decides before my brain has a chance to weigh in with a no-fucking-way recommendation.