He shrugs. “They do a lot of boating and hiking—outdoorsy stuff. And they like the slow life here, I think, and the seasons. I hear a lot about that.”

“They’re overrated.”

He grins. “I don’t really know how they picked Bloomfield specifically, but they seem really happy here.”

We begin to walk slowly toward the house. Our hands brush against one another’s, but neither of us pulls away. I sense him looking at me out of the corner of his eye, because my senses flood with a warmth that I wish I could bottle up and keep forever.

“What about you?” he asks out of nowhere as we ascend the steps to the porch.

“What about me?”

“Are you happy here?”

I stop at the top of the stairs and look at him. There are so many ways to answer that. Am I happy in Bloomfield? Yes. Am I happy at his parents’ house? So far, yes. Am I happy that I’m here with him?

Also yes.

He stands next to me, facing me, with the scent of roast beef floating through the screen door. Ethan’s laughter and Casey’s voice tickle my ears. I hold my breath, afraid to breathe because, if I do, something could go wrong.

Cole touches the side of my face, peering into my eyes. “Breathe, sweetheart,” he whispers.

I part my lips and let the warm air fill my lungs.

“Do you hear that?” he asks softly.

“What?”

He pauses as Ethan laughs again. Then Cole smiles. “You overthink things,” he says.

“I have to. I’m every line of defense between the world and that boy.”

He lowers his face closer to mine. “And between the world and you.”

Cole is right, of course. I am the only person to protect me. But the fact that he knows this makes my vulnerability flare.

“What are you saying?” I ask.

“I’m saying that when you’re with me, here, or anywhere else we are, I want you to trust me. You can relax.” His fingers reach for mine and toy with them at my side. “I admire how strong you are and how much you love Ethan. But I want you to know that I’m on your side, okay?”

Damn it.

Tears pool at the corners of my eyes as my brain repeats his last words over and over: “But I want you to know that I’m on your side, okay?”

No one has ever been in my corner. Not even for a day. How can he say something so sweet, and mean it, I think, without really knowing us?

Who is this man? And why is he pursuing me?

“Stop it,” he says, wrapping his fingers around mine long enough to give them a gentle squeeze. “I didn’t mean to make you cry.”

“Then don’t be nice to me.”

He laughs. “Being nice to you makes you cry?”