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"Okay," she whispers.

I grin, tipping her head back to look at her. "You look beautiful today."

Her cheeks catch fire, her blush crawling down her cheeks all the way to her chest. "Um…thanks," she mumbles, her gaze darting from mine like she isn't sure what to do with the compliment.

"You aren't used to hearing the truth about yourself, are you?"

"N-not really."

"Why not?"

"I guess because I blossomed late," she mutters, her gaze shifting back to mine. "I know I'm not an ugly duckling, but I wasn't attractive growing up."

"I bet you were."

"I had frizzy hair. And braces." She grimaces. "And bad clothes. People were always shocked when they heard me singing. I guess they expected someone who matched the voice, and I never did."

She absolutely matches her voice.

"Even before I saw your billboard, I imagined you looked a lot like you do standing right here, right now, songbird," I murmur.

"You've seen my billboard?"

"Only every day. I've heard you on the radio, too. The voice matches, baby. Believe me."

She blushes, ducking her head like she's feeling shy.

"I was a scrawny little asshole with a cowlick in school," I say after a moment, trying not to make her uncomfortable. I need her to see me, not some fanboy with a crush. I need her to know me.

A surprised laugh tumbles from her lips, her gaze darting back to mine. "You were not."

"I was." I grin at her. "What you see now is the product of manual labor. Back in school, I was a scraggly little shit. Even have the embarrassing school photos to prove it."

Her eyes light up with amusement. "I'd have to see it to believe it, Bishop. You look like you were born fighting giants and wrestling cows."

"Fighting giants, huh?"

"Don't even pretend you don't know how hot you are," she says, rolling her eyes at me. "I'm sure you break hearts all over town."

Is that what she thinks? "You're wrong."

She blinks at me, startled.

"I don't date." I hold her gaze so she knows I'm telling her the truth. I don't want her thinking I'm just feeding her some fucking line or bullshitting her. That's not what this is, and that's not who I am, either. "Haven't gone out with anyone in years."

"Why not?"

"Wasn't interested."

"Oh." Her tongue peeks out, touching her bottom lip. "Why not?"

"Because women usually wanted more than I was interested in giving," I admit truthfully. "I never wanted to get married or start a family or any of that. Didn't want to string anyone along, either. And jumping from bed to bed never interested me much. So I decided to tap out and skip the whole fucking song and dance years ago." I stroke her cheek, my eyes locked with hers. "I'm not saying I'm a saint. Most men my age aren't, songbird. But I'm not out here breaking hearts, either."

She licks her lips like she's nervous. "I'm not a saint either, Bishop. I've dated before. It's just…been a while."

"Never thought you were a saint, baby. Never expected it, either." It doesn't matter who came before me. The only thing that matters is what happens now.

"You don't want to get married or have a family?"