“It did.” Kit bounced a little. “I told him I’d practiced hugging, and he opened his arms, and I hugged him, and then I had to pull his arms around me, and it was wonderful. And”—she rolled her eyes—“and then I cried all over him.”

“Oh, no.” Diana’s brows pulled together “Was he upset?”

“He just held me, and it was great.”

The counselor nodded. “There’s potential here. From those of you who’ve gone past hugging, what obstacles did you run into and how did you work around them?”

The ones further on the journey chimed in with their stories and their triggers and workarounds.

The one warning they gave, though, was that—whether Kit’s guy talked or not—communication was essential.

And didn’t that just suck? Talking about sex was a lot more difficult than just stripping and jumping in bed.

Sex with Hawk.

An unsettling mix of anticipation and nausea swept through Kit as she remembered their first aborted hug and the disaster that had followed.

Huh. Maybe talking wouldn’t be a bad idea.

Chapter Nineteen

Worrying is like paying a debt you don’t owe. ~ Mark Twain

Tuesday morning, in his dining room, Bull studied his brother. It had always annoyed Hawk when his attempts to hide his emotions behind irritability and a wall of reserve didn’t work. But the dark circles under Hawk’s eyes were a dead giveaway of stress.

And when he’d flown away without any warning? They’d known something had pulled the hawk’s tail feathers.

But he’d come back to them.

“You might’ve lost sleep while you were away, but you don’t look like you lost weight.” Bull put a plate of scrambled eggs and hash browns in front of Hawk, then dished more for himself and Frankie.

Dancing a little to the Huey Lewis on the sound system, Frankie set a plate of bacon on the table and added a platter of toast. Gryff took up position nearby.

“Rich client.” The corner of Hawk’s mouth tipped up. “With a chef.”

They settled at the table, and Bull had the gratification of watching his brother chow down with open pleasure.

After a few minutes, Hawk sat back with a contented sigh. “You’re a better cook than the fancy chef, bro.”

“Hey,” Frankie said indignantly. “I made the eggs.”

“You, too, Yorkie. Takes talent to make even the basics taste amazing.”

“Ooooh, that was a very good compliment,” Frankie said. “I guess I’ll have to bake something sweet to welcome you home.”

Hawk’s eyes lit.

Bull grinned. His woman had never been fazed by Hawk’s appearance. “It’s good you’re back. We kept your crew of carpenters busy but haven’t had time to check their work.”

From what he’d seen, the men seemed solid, but still… Hawk was as exacting about construction as Bull was about cooking.