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It wilted because those feelings were going to be the goddamn death of me.

And I’d finally started living.

“Aren’t you cold?” he inquired, decked out in his customary leather jacket that I equally loved and hated.

Loved because it looked so good on him.

Hated because it was the reason Marnie LaRue was given the opportunity to stick her nose where it didn’t belong and ruin a night I’d forever wonder about.

Truthfully, the jacket was just an excuse to not hate myself.

I glanced away, panning my attention over to Ladybug chewing on a bone she’d uncovered in the yard. “Not really. The sun feels nice.”

It was in the upper thirties, but the sun shone brightly in a cloudless blue sky, warming my frosty bones.

Reed’s hands were already turning pink against the chilly air, so he shoved them in the pockets of his distressed jeans. I tried not to trail my gaze down his legs. He wore the jeans as well as he wore the jacket.

And he wore both of those things almost as well as he wore a tiny smile that sent my heartbeats into topsy-turvy turmoil when he took a seat beside me in the adjacent plastic chair.

Stop it, Halley.

“Feeling better?”

“Good as new,” I replied, trying to ignore him and failing. After all, I was never any good at doing hard things.

“We were worried about you. Your fever was high.”

“It was just the flu. Are you sticking around for dinner?” I brought the mug of coffee to my lips with my free hand, peeking over at him as I took a sip.

He nodded. “I took Tara out to lunch, and now Whit’s finishing up her pre-spring-cleaning extravaganza. Looks like a bomb went off in there.”

“I tried to help, but she shooed me away.” Popping my cast-heavy arm in the air, I made a sour face. “Can’t wait for this hideous thing to be cut off of me.”

Reed’s expression dimmed as he stared at my pink arm scribbled with names and doodles. “Your father is a despicable piece of shit.”

My chest spasmed.

I blinked at him, my throat tightening with bitter memories. I didn’t know how to respond. Reed was right, of course, but Reed was also Tara’s dad, which made him the last person I should be confiding in.

Swallowing, I stared down into my lukewarm coffee.

“If he ever comes around you again, you’ll let me know?” There was a gravelly undertone to his voice.

The request made my breath catch. “That’s not your job. I’m not…”

He faltered. “You’re not what?”

Shrugging, I cleared my throat as I stared up at the ocean-blue sky. “I’m not your responsibility.”

Silence spanned between us as he leaned forward in the chair, elbows to knees. He scratched at the stubble along his jawline, simmering in my words. I’d tried to make them sound indifferent, but I was certain he knew that the pink flush blooming on my cheeks and neck was not from the cold.

Reed glanced at me, his expression unreadable. I was envious of his ability to do that so easily. I was an open book; a colorful canvas of thoughts and wishes. If he looked long enough he’d discover everything he wanted to know about me.

Along with everything he didn’t want to know.

“Thank you for the new Oasis CD.” I picked at the wooly outer lining of my left boot. “I love it.”

“Sure,” he said, voice dipping. “You’re welcome.”

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