She was Swiffering the hardwood floor when Sebastian’s headlights bounced onto her driveway. She set the broom aside and pushed her arms into a fitted blue sweatshirt. Wearing the yoga pants and tennis shoes she’d donned for her after-work hike earlier, she stepped onto the front porch.

He shut his car door and crossed to her. The serious lines of his features emphasized glowing gray eyes. He’d clothed his tall body in worn jeans and a casual black pullover with a short, open zipper at the neck.

He stopped a yard away and scrutinized her. She scrutinized him right back. She’d had time to prepare for him. Even so, she was not prepared for him. Had she really believed just a few short months ago that she was incapable of experiencing physical attraction? Now she was suffused with it to the point that it threatened to decimate clear thought and good intentions.

He’d said on the phone that he missed her. She’d missed him, too. His assurance, humor, self-reliance. And beneath all of that, a very real storehouse of goodness. Her world had been small and dull without him in it.

“Come in.” She led him to the now-spotless kitchen, the room farthest from Dylan’s room. “Can I get you anything?”

“No.” He leaned against the countertop, facing her, his hands curled around its edge on either side of his hips.

She leaned against the opposing counter and crossed her arms. It really was exceptional, the combustion that thickened the air when they were together. Like the Force in Star Wars—invisible and powerful.

“I’m sorry that I didn’t ask you first before calling the dean about Dylan,” he said. “And I’m also sorry that I didn’t say anything about it when you mentioned the dean’s email. My motives were good, but my execution sucked. If my execution sucked, then it doesn’t matter what my motives were.”

“Your motives do matter to me, actually. I know you wanted to help. It’s just the—the way you helped happened to poke right at my worst fear, which is my own helplessness. Or, in this case, my concern that you perceived me as helpless.”

“I view you as the least helpless woman I’ve ever met.”

“Honestly?”

“Yes.”

The admission unwound something tight within her. “I’m sorry, too. I wish I’d reacted with more patience.”

Hip-hop music pulsed softly from Dylan’s room.

“I can’t help but want to do things for you,” he said, “to show you how I feel. But there’s very little I can do, so when I saw my chance, I took it.”

“I don’t tend to receive acts of service well, which is a flaw of mine. If you want to express how you feel about me, I recommend that you tell me.”