He lets out a groan of pain. “I would kill to see that, you know? Maybe literally.”

He doesn’t mean it. He’s too good, too kind, but I like that he’s to the point of exaggeration because I get the feeling that he doesn’t do that easily or often. He’s more dry facts and stats, even if he is a romantic at heart.

“And thanks for the vote of confidence, I think,” he says wryly. “But I’m not interested in being brushed off after one night when you get scared again.”

I cup his face back, looking into those calm, assured eyes. “That scares me.”

He places a gentle kiss to my nose. “I know. That’s why I’m going to leave now. Because if I stay here much longer, looking at your body all stretched out beneath these blankets that I know smell like you, I will not be able to be rational about this. About you.” His eyes trace the lumps and bumps my body make beneath the knit blanket I’ve had for years. “You make me irrational.”

He smiles at the very idea, and I can’t help but reach out and touch the wood nightstand next to me. He notices, his eyebrow lifting. “What was that for?”

I blush at being busted making the nonsensical move, but I tell the truth. “For good luck, because you make me think maybe I could get just a tiny bit of it for a change.”

Blake takes my hand in his, giving my fingers a squeeze. “I don’t believe in luck. I believe in this. I believe that we are shaped by all the things that happen to us, and we wouldn’t have gotten to this moment if anything in our lives had been different. And this moment? I wouldn’t have changed it. Good night, Zoey.”

He folds my fingers in his hand and lays a soft kiss, quick as a heartbeat, to my knuckles. I guess I really am a trailer park princess because I have never felt so feminine, even if it is with condensation from a bag of old peas dripping down my leg and a stupid smile on my face.

Blake gets up and starts to leave, pausing at the door. “I’ll lock the door on my way out.”

His eyes drift over my face and down the lumpy bumps of blanket. I wonder what he’s thinking because he shakes his head ever so slightly and his eyes go a little soft but then crinkle at the corners as they narrow.

Seconds later, he’s gone. I hear the door open and then the screen, and then the doorknob rattles as he checks that it’s locked. I smile at his protectiveness. It’s been a long time since anyone’s taken care of me, maybe not since Grandma passed away, and I’m worried I’m already getting addicted to it.