Page 93 of Merry Mended Hearts

Oh, right. That part.

His hands relocated to my face. Like he couldn’t get enough of touching me. “Are you confused by me, Grace?”

I hooked my hand around his wrist, and he continued to stroke my cheek. “Absolutely. You are a mystery to me. This whole situation—why you’d even want me—is a mystery.”

“I told you. No woman has caught my eye since my wife died. And plenty of them have tried.”

“But why? I can’t read you. Sometimes you’re so open and expressive, and I think you’re okay with me. That youlikeme.” Hello, pushing me against the door for that kiss that I was pretty sure would ruin any other kisses I’d ever have again.

“Like this morning, you push me away and have this mask, this wall, like you don’t want me anywhere near you.”

He brought his forehead to mine and ran his fingers down my arms, sending tingles across my skin the whole way down until his hands threaded through mine.

“I’m sorry for that. It’s my own inner battle, I guess. It doesn’t mean I don’t want you. If anything, it means I want you more than I should.”

I shook my head. “I don’t get that.”

“I’m not sure how to explain. Letting you into my life…after I’ve shut everyone out for so long. It’s not easy.”

“I get that. It’s just?—”

“Just what? What else confuses you?”

I left his embrace, stepping away, needing to think. He’d shown me his past. I could do the same.

Keeping my eyes closed, I spoke. “Because I’m so unwantable. Rejection is my lot in life—with my writing, with my love life, with my career. It’s why I’ve been stuck at that stupid job, because every other job I’ve tried for turned me down. I’ve just gotten used to it.”

“You got rejected?”

“My first book, yeah. I submitted it to agents, and none of them wanted it.”

Boone leaned his elbows back on the dresser behind him. “Yet you’re not giving up on your writing.”

“No, I’m not,” I said, not sure where he was going with this.

He stepped away from the dresser. “That doesn’t sound like a woman who’s accepted rejection. Or a woman who’s unwantable. It’s just some words on a page. It doesn’t reflect who you are as a person.”

His tender words rang with so much truth they brought tears to my eyes. “Thank you.”

“And from what I read, your words aren’t the problem.”

My breathing stilled, making my heartbeat that much more noticeable. “How much did you read?”

He inched closer. “Enough to know that you’re crazy about me.”

“You mean you couldn’t already tell?”

His fingers found mine again. Just a touch, but its warmth seeped into me. “Then you should know, you’re having the same effect on me.”

“I am?”

“Yes. That’s why I’m having such a hard time staying away from you. Even though I know I should. So, know this, you tantalizing woman, that from what I can see, and taste” —he dipped in for a kiss— “and smell and touch, you and completely wantable.”

My body lost every ounce of solidarity. I was goo, a puddle on the floor under the weight of his words. In one fell swoop, he’d told me everything I didn’t know I needed to hear.

Tears welled in my eyes at his sincerity, at his admission, at his everything, and I struggled to take a breath.

“I know you’re leaving,” he said. “I know we can never have more than tonight.”

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