He searched her face with a gaze as piercing as his words. The sudden intensity surprised her, and yet didn’t, as if she always knew a restless current coursed just beneath his skin. Loosening his grip, he trailed his thumb along the tender skin at the base of her bicep. Goose bumps emerged at his touch.

“That child—that precious child—will be no one.”

Shaking her head, she covered his hand with her own. His knuckles were rough. She ran her fingertips between them and down the strong, yet fine, bones of his hand. “Rebecca will always be a person in this world, and someone will always love her. I will.”

At her simple admission, he stilled. He lowered his chin to his chest, and his shoulders rose and fell in a single breath torn from somewhere deep inside.

She stared at her hand atop his. Her fingernails were dark from the morning’s gardening, and traces of dirt lay in the creases of her skin like contour lines on a map. “Do you ever think about leaving?”

Releasing her, he met her gaze again. “Every single day.”

The quiet certainty of his confession caught her off guard, but again, she wasn’t wholly surprised. “Why do you stay?” As if the question caused him pain, he shuddered, but his gaze remained steady.

“Why do you?”

Though his tone was even, the question hit her like a roundhouse kick to the solar plexus. Blinking rapidly, she struggled for words.

Before she could utter a syllable, he flung open the door and left.

Once inside, she ran her fingertips over her arm where his touch still tingled and watched him through the kitchen window. The weight of what he dared to speak lay heavy on her heart.

He crossed the lawn in even strides, his toolbox tracing a wide arc at his side, and disappeared under the pines.

Two hours later, the sky opened. With the first flash of lightning, rain poured in buckets. She dropped menu plans for the Midsummer Ball and flew out the back door. Peering through raindrops that pelted her face, she spotted him under the sycamore, yanking a tarp over a stack of lumber. He pushed a pile of tools into her hands, and she fled to the garage. After several more runs, the materials were safely stowed, and she stood by his side, staring at the deluge. “You’re soaked.” Sneakers squelching, she crossed the cement floor and opened the inner door to the house. “Let me get you some dry clothes.”

Staring through the open door, he shook his head. “I’m fine.”

She softened her voice. “It’s all right. You can come inside.”

His shoulders eased. “I’ll meet you on the porch.” He leaped a puddle and dashed into the rain.