But even as incredibly good-looking as he was, it was his heart that held me in thrall. He was fiercely protective yet gentle when he touched me. His loyalty and persistence were unmatched by any guy I’d ever been around, and yet he never pushed me for more than I was ready to give. He let me move at my own pace without so much as hinting that it was too slow for him. He’d mastered the art of emotional seduction by patience, and that was hotter than the lines of roped muscles down his stomach or even the inked lines of latitude and longitude that ran along his side.

My heart—my stupid, foolish heart—ached with a sharp, sweet throb.

You cannot fall for this man. Not while you still love Will.

I did, right? I still loved Will. But every day that passed, every therapy assignment I conquered, softened the intensity of that emotion. The more time I spent with Dr. Circe, the more I realized that Will wasn’t a sea of grief anymore. He was a mountain in my life, maybe even the mountain. No matter where I stood, I could still see him to the west—but I’d gained enough distance that he didn’t dominate my existence anymore. He was a landmark I could guide myself by, comforting in his permanence. But somewhere in the last few months, it was Jackson who had become the ocean to my east. Deep, calming, and steady, just like those waves that pounded the shore behind me. And he was a touch reckless, too—bending the rules he found inconvenient and breaking the ones that got in his way. But for every danger he might bring, he was also gentle and tenacious enough to transform a broken bottle into a priceless piece of sea glass.

I examined the strong lines of Jackson’s face, so different from Will’s. And maybe it was wrong to compare, but I did it anyway. Jackson was bigger, taller, his body sharper than Will’s compact, lithe frame had been, but he was also soft in the areas where Will had been unyielding. Jackson had no problem standing his ground, but he also knew when to compromise, when to concede, and when to take the risk. I would even argue that he did the latter far too often.

Will had seen the world as black and white—right or wrong.

Jackson would argue that there were ten thousand shades between the two.

My chest tightened the longer I studied him, but the butterflies in my belly were nowhere to be found. There was nothing to be nervous about anymore when I was in Jackson’s arms. I couldn’t do or say the wrong thing, because he wanted me just as I was, hot mess and all. He hadn’t questioned my need to sleep next to him, either.