She made a noise—a quick, frustrated exhale that was almost this side of a groan, and . . . yeah. It made him the exact opposite of easy. He caught one side of his cheek between his teeth and bit down. He said it like a chant in his head—easy easy easy—and tried to feel a sense of victory when she gave up, dropping her eyes and turning to go.

He couldn’t really explain what happened next, except to say that once again, his instincts failed him. If she was going, he’d walk her to the door.

But either she hadn’t expected him to be behind her, or she’d thought of something else to say to him. She turned, suddenly, right next to that brown recliner he hated so much, the back of her foot catching on the sloppy stack of newspapers. In a split second, she reeled backward, one of her arms going out to restore her balance, and he could’ve let her ass hit the arm of the chair, an unplanned sit-down that might’ve jostled Jonah’s box but certainly wouldn’t have hurt her.

He didn’t, though.

He reached out and caught her hand.

Palm to palm. A clap as they both curled their fingers to grip each other.

A seal.

He was bent slightly over her, and up close like this he could see everything: the fine, wispy hairs that quivered along her hairline. The impossibly small flecks of gold hiding like a secret in her blue eyes. The irregularity he’d seen before in her left cheek—not a dimple, but a thin, straight scar, barely visible. The flash of white from her slightly crooked bottom teeth when her lips parted in surprise.

The thudding pulse in her neck.

Holy shit, he thought. Holy shit, the palm of her hand.

It felt like an electric shock. All the way up his left arm. All the way through to his heart.

Let go, some distant part of his brain said. This is dangerous to you.

But he wasn’t really listening to his brain. He was listening to his heart, which had been shocked right out of its hiccup, beating in time with her pulse. He watched as she watched him—as she looked up at all the up-close things she could see about him, too. He thought it would be the easiest thing, to pull her closer. She only had to say, and he’d do it. He’d catch her full bottom lip with his own; he’d—

“Is there someone else?”

He blinked, and straightened. Barely realized that their hands were still clasped, even though they were both fully upright now. Her voice had been low, almost a whisper.

No, he wanted to say. There isn’t.

But he actually had no idea what she was asking, what with his brain having jumped ship. So instead he said, “Someone else?”