“Peace on earth, good will to men,” Kate shrugged and finally sat up. After goodness-knew how long resting on his chest, she finally stitched herself together enough to support her own weight again. Instant regret flooded her. A chill a minute ago turned into full-on shivering with the sudden loss of their shared body heat. “They don’t seem to care about women.”

“I care about one of them.”

A bolt of light broke the darkness around them, invisible to anyone but Kate. Her foolish, wanting heart wanted to throw herself in his arms and kiss him. It clung to that light, never wanting to let it go. Her frightened, skittish self retreated into the shadows.

Dangerous. Risky. Impossible. Loving Clark Woodward was all of these things. She couldn’t let herself want it.

“Clark,” she admonished, pushing herself to standing. The more distance between them, the safer she’d feel. “You really shouldn’t…”

“Shouldn’t? I don’t understand. All day you’ve been showing me what it means to love someone and now that I want to, you’re saying I shouldn’t?”

He followed as Kate strode closer to the cliff. Surely, he wouldn’t follow her off a cliff? A hundred possible tactics flew at her and she grabbed hold of the first one she caught. Play dumb. Be obtuse. Deliberately obfuscate.

“You should care about everyone. All of those people—”

“I do care about them, but I don’t… I’m not falling in love with them. I’m falling in love with you.”

She froze at the edge. He stood behind her, not near enough to touch but somehow near enough to reach into her chest, grab her heart and hold it so tenderly the heat of oncoming tears burned her eyes.

“You barely know me.”

“You don’t feel the same way?”

“That’s not the point.”

It was as good as an admission, but she couldn’t even think the words. She marveled at the ease with which she said, “I love you,” and “love ya,” to her friends and neighbors, only to balk now when something real and magical waited just three steps away from her.

“Then what is the point? You love so many people. Why not me?”

“…It’s scary.”

“I know.” He breathed a laugh. “Why do you think I’ve been avoiding it for so long?”

His soft words coaxed some truth out of her, a stammering, hard-to-admit truth, but a truth nonetheless.

“When I love someone, I can focus on them. I can make sure they’re safe and comfortable and happy. I’m very good at loving—”

“But not so good at being loved.” The breath left her body. He soldiered on. “Because that means being vulnerable. Being taken care of. When was the last time someone took care of you, Kate? Or listened to you the way you listened to me today?”

He stood in front of her now, his back to the cliff’s edge and framed by the light of the town below. Still, she stared at her shoes.