I shift in my seat.

As if she senses my weakness for her, her eyes open, and her gaze slides over to me and down without apology. She says, “I have a feeling you weren’t in the area.”

I glance at her, catching sight of the gold centers where the sun is as rapt as I am, finding peace within the greenest depths of Lark’s eyes.

Death of me . . .

Closing my eyes briefly, I breathe, inhaling her into my lungs.

What a glorious death it will be.

I chuckle. “No, I wasn’t in the neighborhood.”

“I always knew you were a stalker.” She grins, resting her head back on the seat. “I called it the first day we met.”

She’s right. “I’d been watching you since the first time I saw you.” I grip the wheel like it can transfer the support I need to confess my sins. “You took my breath away. That had never happened before.” I glance over at her again. “I knew you were special.”

“I wasn’t special because you noticed me, Harbor. I was special because I saw through your façade. I saw you.”

I’m leveled by her words, and her insight hits me square in the heart. “You did see me. You’re the first person who ever did. I meant to thank you for that.” I volley my gaze between her and the road a few times. “After I left, I think I spent the first two years trying to become a man worthy of you again.”

Her expression falls, but she doesn’t give in and fights to keep the corners of her mouth even. “You were worthy the day we met, Harbor.”

Hearing her tell me I’m worthy cuts deeper than a knife ever could. I know I did what I had to for her, but I still doubt how I went about it. I saw no other way. I scrub over my face and turn on the music.

We cover miles, but she’s still riding along like we’re on a pleasant Sunday drive. I finally reach our destination. I drive over gravel and park. Not making a move to get out, she asks, “Where are we?”

“Palisades Cliffs.” I get out and come around, opening the door for her. When I offer my hand, she slips hers right in. The surge between us ushers us together when she stands, though our bodies barely touch. Looking at her, I tuck hair behind her ear as if I still have that right.

As if I hadn’t, she turns back and grabs the bag out of the car. Carrying it with her, she walks to the end of the vehicle and turns back. “Hungry?”

I shut the door. “I can eat.” We walk closer to the overlook, but I stop her. “You look fucking amazing, and those shoes . . . fuck me, they’re very . . .” I gulp.

“You like?” She lifts a foot, teasing me.

“Yeah, I like. You could say that.”