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Alec pinched the bridge of his nose. “I do work, you know. Books don’t write themselves.”

“True, true.”

Mom cleared her throat. “Are you hungry, honey?”

“No,” they both answered in unison.

She sliced some banana bread anyway.

Dad went back to his newspaper as if Alec wasn’t there, sipping the tea Mom had set out for him. Even as a child, his father had never seemed to know what to say to him, so this was nothing new.

Home sweet home.

His mom finished slicing the bread and reached into a drawer. She set the entire loaf in foil and handed it to Alec. “To eat while you’re writing. I’m so proud of you.”

That made one of them.

She went on and on for the next twenty minutes about how the local libraries had his books in stock, the weather, the neighbors, and by the time he tuned her out, she was on a kick about knitting.

When she paused to come up for air, he cut in. “I have to go soon. I’m on a deadline.”

The disappointment in her eyes cut. “I wish we could see you more often. It was good you stopped by.”

“I’ll be around this summer. I’ll visit.”

Alec wrapped her in a hug, squeezing until she squeaked. “I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

“Make him take you out to dinner tonight.” He jerked his chin toward his dad.

Confusion sparked in her blue eyes. “For what occasion?”

Alec shrugged. “Who says you need one? Do it just because.”

The newspaper came down again. “Waste of money when we have food right here. Unless you’re buying, Mr. Fancy Writer.”

“Take your wife out on a date,” Alec ground through clenched teeth. Try as he may to remember his father meant well and was harmless, his patience was wearing thin.

Dad wasn’t done, though. “Good one, son. What would you know about taking care of a wife?” He snorted out a full belly laugh before he finally realized no one else was laughing.

Except his dad was so fucking right. Even though they’d never actually gotten to tie the knot, Alec hadn’t taken care of Laura, and look how she’d wound up. A vegetable, being fed through a tube, with machines doing her breathing for her.

Nausea rolled in his gut. He closed his eyes and sucked in a breath. Shook his head.

When he finally could speak his voice sounded like sandpaper. “I gotta go. Love you guys.”

His father stood and wrapped his arms around Alec, the scent of cut grass surrounding him as he squeezed the air from his lungs. “Love you, too, son.”

*   *   *

The blunt knock on the kitchen door caused Faith to jump. She’d been staring off into space again, thinking about Alec and why he’d kissed her, instead of listening to Ginny read like she was supposed to be doing. Thinking how darn good it felt when he’d cupped her cheek and brushed his lips over hers. Going so long without another’s touch had obviously muddled her brain.

And Alec hadn’t come by since.

Wow. She’d never been one for daydreaming before. This place was either growing on her or changing her. Maybe both. She didn’t know how to feel about that. Daydreaming led to false hope and unrealistic versions of the truth. She’d set goals in her life, sure, but they were attainable ones.

Alec wasn’t attainable.

When she opened the door, he stood on the other side, looking like a gentle breeze could knock him over. Dark circles were forming under his eyes and his hair stood at odd angles. Yet he still looked so good. Too handsome and rough around the edges for her to ignore the punch.

“Are you okay?” He didn’t look right. She resisted the urge to smooth her hands over his thick black hair and across his shadowed jaw.

“No.” If his face was any indication, he was just as surprised by the admission. “Am I interrupting?”

She looked over her shoulder at the table. “Ginny was just reading to me. Come in.”

Ginny bounced in her seat. “Hi, Alec!”

He stepped inside and surveyed the room, not seeming to take anything in. “Hey, Ginny. Whatcha reading?”

Faith waited for Ginny to finish answering, the worry eating at her stomach lining. “Ginny, why don’t you head into the living room for a break? You can have an hour of TV, okay?”

“Yeah!”

The second Ginny was out of earshot, Faith turned to Alec. “Is it Lacey or Jake? Did something happen?”

“No, no.” He waved his hand. “I’m sorry. It’s me. I . . .”

Drawing in a calming breath, she sat at the table and waited him out. He leaned against the island and crossed his ankles, his palms clutching the counter behind him. The position made the blue tee he wore stretch over the taut muscles of his chest and arms. He was a magnificently built man. Part of his charisma was his confidence, which he seemed to be lacking at the moment. The urge to ask him what the problem was grew fierce, but he’d come here for a reason, so she let him work it out on his own.

He sighed and swiped a hand down his face. Rubbed his jaw. “I feel like shit for what happened the other night. I shouldn’t have kissed you.”

This, exactly this, was why she didn’t daydream. Because envisioning someone like him wanting her was dangerous to her heart. She knew better. Her family and previous encounters had taught her well.

She forced her tone to be even, not wanting him to feel guilty, while lead sat heavy in her stomach. “It was spur of the moment. Nothing to beat yourself up over.”

Slowly, his gaze lifted to hers. Held. “It wasn’t spur of the moment. I’ve wanted to kiss you since I first saw you on the beach.” He straightened suddenly, those black eyebrows drawing together. Anger flared in his eyes. “Don’t do that. Don’t look at me like that.”

“Like what?” Like the floor had just dropped out from under her? Like the room was spinning? Like every molecule in her body was exploding? Because it was. Her heart wouldn’t stop pounding.

“You look like no one’s ever said they wanted to kiss you before. The simplest things put this . . . this light in your eyes. I’m not capable of keeping that light there. I’m not in a position where I can offer more.”

He got all this from one kiss? He was more a dreamer than she was, then. She’d never been in a long-term relationship. This was uncharted territory for her. Not that anything resembling a relationship was happening between them. Even if it were, he’d just slammed on the brakes.

“It was just a kiss.” She didn’t know if she said that for him or herself.

He shook his head. “I don’t know what to make of you.”

Suddenly, it hit her. This seemed like classic projection. He was deflecting. She wasn’t the type of woman who got men sexually frustrated, so something else was triggering this argument and making him feel guilty. “Did something else happen today?”

“That is exactly what I’m talking about!” He paced the length of the kitchen and back, finally settling on the other side of the island as if needing a barrier. “You and your clever little mind and pretty eyes that see everything. You know things without me having to say a word.” He blew out a gust of air and slapped his hands on the counter, leaning into them.

Dang it. He said the nicest things sometimes, contradicting them with a voice that was wholly pissed off. He didn’t know what to make of her?

“You think my eyes are pretty?” She hadn’t really meant to say that aloud, but that’s what her mind chose to fixate on—the compliment. Her face heated to blazing.

He pinned her with a duh look. His shoulder muscles bunched with tension and the little tick in his jaw was back. He needed a stiff drink. So did she.

She had to redirect this conversation.