Page 29 of Back in the Saddle

“Maybe,” I conceded.

“They’re your friends and they won’t think anything less of you knowing who you really are. And Jess, you keeping it from them is hiding who you are.”

One thing was clear about our most recent intrusion.

I was hiding.

“Our ice cream is melting,” I evaded.

“It is,” he said.

But he didn’t shift away so I could finish the coffees. He wrapped both his big hands around the sides of my neck and dipped his face to mine.

And he kept going.

“Even as shit as it was, your family helped make you. You didn’t bow. You certainly didn’t break. You became this hip woman with a great apartment, friends who’d go to the mat for her, and neighbors who turn to her in need because you don’t hesitate a second to give them what they need. They show because they know that’s what you’ll do. I don’t know it all. I know your brother is missing. I know you reported it to the police. I’ve read the reports of the cops’ visits with your mom and dad about that situation, and I read between the lines at the responses they gave to law enforcement. And I know a lot of people who have two parents who’d give zero shits their schizophrenic son is off his meds and on the streets of Phoenix who would not become the woman you are.”

I ignored the glow he created inside me with some (okay, most) of his words and focused on others.

“It was you who gave the flour to Alexis.”

“It was you who listened to her when she needed to unload, and encouraged her when she needed someone to remind her to keep her chin up. The flour was incidental. She needed a friend, and that was what you gave her.”

He was being awesome.

Or,moreawesome.

Therefore, I couldn’t handle this.

“Can we eat more crumble so I can alternately concentrate on not puking at the same time marvel at James Cameron’s moviemaking chops?” I requested. “Because I feel the need to remind you, it’s No-Fucks-to-Giving, and it seems to me you’re giving a few fucks.”

The pads of his fingers pressed into my skin a beat before he sighed and dropped his hands.

“Back to no fucks given,” he muttered mildly irritably.

“Thank you,” I pushed out, fighting sagging with relief.

“I take a splash of cream, no sugar,” he ordered.

“Gotcha.” I moved to the coffee.

“Jess?”

I turned to him, liking my name on his tongue.

Damn.

“Your family doesn’t reflect on you.”

I started to say something, perhaps tell him how wrong he was, but he held up a hand, so I stopped.

“All I’m gonna say.”

“Thank you,” I repeated.

“I got the crumble. You bring the coffee when it’s done.”

I nodded.

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