God, I can’t wait to see who wins.

Standing so much closer now than before, he towers over me, clocking in at a good six-two, six-three. Harbor’s nothing less than GQ cover material.

I wasn’t dressed up when we met, but being in my uniform isn’t the way I’d choose to dress if I knew I was going to see him again. “Bleeding? Uh . . . oh right.” I touch my chin again and then inspect my fingertips. “I am, and this was definitely not in the plan.”

I step back and turn, searching for a paper towel or the first-aid kit Larry always brings. Neither is found.

He passes me to snatch a napkin from a drawer. Returning to me, he drops his gaze to my chin. He pauses, taking a slow breath and a slower exhale before he says, “We should clean you up.”

We . . .

A thousand reasons exist to steer clear of him. He’s a heartbreaker in human form if I’ve ever seen one. So at the top of the list, I’m just going to assume he goes through women like candy based on his attractiveness.

The thing is, I can’t judge him because I don’t have the best track record either. I may not have dated much, but I’ve made plenty of bad decisions.

With Harbor, no red flag is flying. I’m getting green all the way. I just wished that fate would have helped a girl out. Seeing him at work isn’t ideal and being clumsy is even worse. It’s downright embarrassing.

He dabs the napkin to my chin with the softest of touches as if it’s not the first time he’s taken care of a girl before. I hate that I wonder if he’s always the hero to other damsels in distress. Not appearing satisfied, his expression sours just as he passes me. “Come with me.”

I follow in the scent of his wake—rain mixed with a forest, ocean tides, and moonrise. God, he smells divine.

What am I doing? Why am I following a man I barely know without hesitation. My dad told me to trust my instincts, but I’m now questioning them. Not for the reasons I should be, but because I trust Harbor. Trust isn’t something that’s always come easy for me, so I can’t explain why I feel such ease with him.

I take a deep breath as we cross the large room. “Where are we going?”

Without even a glance back, he says, “To treat the wound.”

“You’ll need more than Neosporin to heal my wounds,” I say with only a hint of sarcasm.

Harbor stops and turns back. His gaze goes from my chin to my eyes. Another pause keeps me in suspense, my breath fully caught in my throat. Then he approaches, gently pinching my chin between his fingers while tilting his head down, bringing us that much closer. “Don’t worry. I’ll take care of this first and then work on the rest.”