Page 34 of Fragile Hearts

And she hasn’t moved from my lap.

Or stopped smiling.

And she apparently thinks I’m perfect.

I pull her close again, so our foreheads are resting together, my hand sliding into her hair as I hold her to me.

“I’m not going anywhere, Sloane,” I whisper. “I’m here, and I will wait for you for as long as I need to.”

She smiles, huffing out a soft breath as she asks, “What if I’m never ready?”

I close my eyes for a moment, letting out a slow breath before opening them. “Then that’s okay too,” I tell her, meaning it. “But Sloane?”

“Yeah?”

A smile tugs at my mouth as I press my lips to her forehead in a soft kiss. “You can’t kiss me like that and then pretend there isn’t a part of you that doesn’t want to try,” I whisper.

She laughs at that, her head falling to my shoulder as she buries her face in my neck, and all I can do is wrap my arms around her, pulling her close as I silently hope this is the start of something.

We’re dancing a fine line, teetering on the edge of something more, and I never want it to stop. The moment Owen’s lips touched mine, I forgot everything that ever happened in my past. He makes me feel alive and loved and grateful, but there’s so much he doesn’t know, so much he’d be taking on. And it’s all shit he’s never experienced in his life and never will.

But I love that we’re different, that he has so much more to share with me, to experience with him, and he’s so willing to give.

The truth is, he’s right about the kiss. I used to think all he saw was a cute blonde with the ability to control a surfboard with some serious skill, but I realize now it’s more than that. He wants to know me. He wants to be the guy I need him to be. The crazy thing is that he already is, and that’s the reason I never let him in. He’s too perfect. Too right for me. He’s everything I need him to be and more.

“Why’d you ask me to move in with you?” I pull back as I ask the question, looking right at him. I hate that I still have this part of me that doubts everything everyone does. Especially with Owen. Doubting him feels wrong because he’s done nothing to ever make me think otherwise.

He doesn’t answer right away. His head is cocked to the side, he’s watching me with reverence, but it’s like my question clicks and his face changes.

“Sloane, don’t ever think I asked you to move in with me because of my interest in you,” he now replies with a bite. “It had nothing to do with that. Nothing. You needed a place to live, and I could offer my place. I’d have done it if it were Daisy or Alana or any of the guys.”

His words ease my worries as much as they can, but they also encourage me. Needing to share with him so he understands.

“I have to tell you something,” I start, swallowing back the fear that lingers. It’s always there when I talk about my past, knowing it could turn people off. But I’ve tried so hard to not let it define me. This isn’t who I am now, and it won’t be who I am in the future either.

Alana knew me when I was in foster care. She knew I needed a way out, and she took me in with all this knowledge and helped me change my life. But she already knew what it was like dealing with someone so fucked up.

Nate.

And I look at him as a role model.

He changed his life, and it’s because of Mitch and Alana that he’s where he is today. Not that Alana had it easy growing up. She didn’t. Her mom kicked her out as soon as Alana turned eighteen, and maybe that’s why she took me in. She knew what it was like.

“You can tell me anything,” Owen whispers, his words calm yet encouraging. His green eyes watch me, taking in my face, and I could stare into them for hours. He’s gorgeous, but more than that, he’s the kindest man I’ve ever met.

“Thank you.”

My hand rests on his cheek, his arms embracing me in a hold that makes me more comfortable than I’ve ever been in my whole life.

I want to kiss him again. I want to kiss him for hours, letting his tongue explore my body. His lips are soft and full and perfect. Everything about Owen Sinclair is perfect, and it’s a thought that just won’t leave my head. I wish I had a better way to describe him than perfect, but it’s the only word that comes to mind.

“Don’t ever be afraid, Sloane, not of me, or your past, or anything. It doesn’t define you, but it made you who you are. And that’s someone who is resilient and kind and accepting and beautiful.”

Fucking hell, he’s just so damn…perfect.

And there’s that word again.

“There’s a lot here, Owen,” I say, and he shakes his head. His thumb brushes along my cheekbone, his touch sending warmth through my skin.

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