“How strong?” He leaned closer, caging her, his body pressing hers back against the rough bark of the tree. “How strong are those feelings? I want to know.”

That confession had been scary enough, and he wanted more? He was asking her to reveal the depth of her feelings, to remove all the protection she’d layered around herself and make herself vulnerable. “They’re strong. And I know you probably don’t—”

“I’m in love with you, Flora. I’ve been in love with you for months.”

Something happened to her knees because suddenly they felt shaky. She felt a little dizzy.

The air was still, the only sound the flutter of a bird’s wing against leaves as it made a bid for freedom through the canopy of trees.

He had to be able to hear her heart hammering, surely?

“You—love me?” Those were the words he’d been nervous to say? She hadn’t thought it. She hadn’t dared think it. But she saw it in his eyes as he smiled down at her. The nervousness was still there, but now it was diluted by something else. Something that warmed every remaining frozen part of her.

“Are you asking for confirmation? How can you not know that?”

The list of reasons flew through her head.

Too soon. Too complicated. Becca. Izzy—

“You never—” Did he mean it? She didn’t trust it, but maybe that was because she wasn’t used to being handed something she wanted so badly. She wanted to gasp, and shriek and swing through the trees. “If that’s true, then why haven’t you said anything before now? Because of the children?”

“I wasn’t sure you were ready to hear it. You already told me that in every other relationship you end up not being yourself just to please the person you’re with. I didn’t want that. I wanted you to be yourself. To be you. And I know you, Flora. I know who you are. So be sure that when I say I love you, I mean it. I’m not in love with some fabricated version of yourself you decided would work well for us. I’m rambling.” He was deliciously flustered. “It might be nerves. Is this making any sense?”

“Yes.” She liked the fact that his words weren’t slick and practiced. It made it all the more believable, and she badly wanted to believe.

“I wanted you to feel comfortable being yourself with me. And wanted you to feel secure that you’d be loved no matter what.”

“You think you know me?”

“I do know you.” There was no sign of the nerves now, only confidence. “I love how creative you are, whether it’s with a pencil or a paintbrush, or the clothes you wear.”

“You like my clothes?”

“You dress as if every day is a party, and I love that.”