It had been right after I’d made the decision to leave college. After nearly dying, and that wasn’t an exaggeration. I’d seriously almost died, like dead, dead. I had the scars to prove it. I couldn’t bring myself to waste away hours sitting in the classroom and studying, learning things I’d never apply in life. Looking back now, removed from the intensity of everything, I knew it wasn’t really a thirst to live life that drove me to withdraw from classes.

I’d been depressed.

It was common, I’d discovered later, that after a traumatic event, people became depressed, oftentimes years after the event. I’d been restless, with no desire to go to class, to be around people, and even unable to read for any long period of time. Nothing had interested me.

I’d dropped out of college, returned home, a bittersweet homecoming for my parents since I knew they wanted me there but not under those circumstances.

Mom had pulled me aside one evening, after dinner, to tell me that Brock had proposed to Kristen and she had accepted. It had been two years after that night.

Two years and . . . Brock was on Pay-Per-View. He was engaged to the girl he’d flirted with that night, and it finally hit me then that there had been nothing that Brock had to get over, because he hadn’t had those kind of feelings for me. None. He was moving on, because nothing was holding him back.

His life was exploding in all the best ways while mine . . . mine had imploded, and everything I’d ever wanted—a degree, working for my family, traveling, being happy, and being in love—had felt like it was out of my grasp.

So I stayed home for six more months, found the job at the insurance firm, and moved back to Martinsburg.

And now I was starting to get back those things I once wanted. I was happy. I was working for my family and I . . . Drawing in a shallow breath, I peeked up at Grady.

We stopped by my car, and we stood facing one another.

He was not little.

Grady was at least an inch or two taller than me, so I could still wear normal heels, but yeah, he was short compared to Brock. He had to be close to six foot three. Obviously not Godzilla-sized, but—

Oh my God, I was not thinking about him while I was on a date with Grady.

“So, I was wondering,” Grady said, and the centers of his cheeks pinked. Adorable. “If you’d like to grab dinner sometime this week?”

I started to smile, and ducked my chin a little. “That . . . that would be nice.”

“So that’s a yes?”

I nodded.

“I’m glad you said yes.” He squeezed my hand. “I was prepared to grovel to get another date.”

Another date? That sounded . . . really nice. “Groveling not necessary.”