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“Just be open to your feelings.” Grammy pats my hand. “Trust yourself. Trust your soul.”

I nod. “My soul.” Though I swear I sound like a foolish person. I thought she was a little ridiculous when she first told me that my soul liked his soul.

There’s a tap on the front door and Grammy slides her bottom to the edge of the couch. “I’m going to check on dinner. You answer the door.” She crinkles her nose with a grin before disappearing into the kitchen.

I stand and smooth the front of my cotton skirt. “Okay, Rosalie,” I say, feeling the need for a pep talk. “You’ve got this. No need to pressure the man with questions. And no need to tackle him like a linebacker. Let things move organically.” I set my hand to the doorknob. “Organically,” I whisper. “Trust your instincts.”

I pull open the door to the six-foot-something, redheaded, shoulders-like-boulders man holding a small bouquet of daisies. My heart does this strange, urgent leaping thing inside my chest. And I have to remind myself that I am not a linebacker. Zev does not need tackling at this moment.

I’m trying very hard to trust my instincts. Only, my instincts are telling me to leap, wrap my legs around his waist, and kiss him until he can’t walk straight. Is that organic?

Okay, Rose, maybe don’t trust your instincts.

I press my lips together. “Hi.” I’m so proud of myself. I sound so much calmer than I feel.

“Hi.” Zev grins, then leans down. His nose skiffs my cheekbone before he presses one soft kiss there. I breathe him in like he is one hundred percent oxygen and I’m completely out of breath.

Golly, the man smells good.

He lingers by my cheek. So, I turn my head—as if I have no other choice—and press a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. It cannot be helped. It’s the linebacker in me. “Hello,” I say again. I’m a neodymium magnet—the strongest in the world—and he’s the exact steel I’m attracted to.

I’m telling you, it’s organic!

I pause with the thought… How do I even know what a neodymium magnet is? I have no recollection of learning about the rare-earth magnets with maximum strength—and yet, in this moment, as a neodymium linebacker, I know exactly what it is.

Zev breathes out a short, pleasant laugh. “These are for you.”

“My favorite,” I say, taking the daisies from his hand.

“I would have brought a book, but the shop was closed today.”

And because I’m the magnet and Zev’s the steel, I lift on my toes and press another kiss to his cheek. “Thanks. This is perfect.”

But my one simple expression of gratitude isn’t enough. It doesn’t feel like… enough.

Grammy is right. Something inside of me needs to touch him. It can’t be stopped.

With my free hand wrapped around his neck and the gift of his daisies in my other at my side, I place a third kiss on his cheek, this time closer to his lips. One more kiss, even closer this time, and then—hallelujah—I’m there. I nudge my mouth to his, soft and slow, the exact opposite of how I feel. The perfectly lovely bundle of daisies he brought falls to the ground as I wind my other arm around his neck and mold my lips to his. Forget soft and slow.

Rosalie! I truly attempt to silently scold myself. But it doesn’t work.

Because—it really did feel organic. I am trusting my gut. And my gut told me to tackle and make out with Zev. I promise that’s what it said.

Zev’s hands are on my hips, holding me next to him. He doesn’t mind my organic linebacker method one bit. But then, did I give him a choice?

“Sorry,” I say, my whispering words a memo pressed right against his mouth.

His lips, against mine, turn up in a grin. “You really need to stop apologizing.”

I loosen my grip on him and slide myself the few inches down that very tall man’s body—apparently, in my need to kiss him, I also climbed him like a tree. I put a foot of space between us. A shaky breath exhales from my lips. I clear my throat and adjust my floral print top. “I’m not usually so… forward.”

“I’m not complaining,” he says.

“I just—” I bite my lip, and I do the very opposite of Grammy’s sane and wise advice. “It’s like I can’t help myself. I hardly know you. I don’t know what you do for a living. I know nothing about your family or where you grew up. I don’t even know your middle name⁠—”

“I don’t have one.”

“See? I had no idea. But it’s like—” I shake my head once and study the ground. I hold my hands to my stomach, keeping my nerves in check. “It’s like you do something to my insides. It’s like my ovaries are telling me I have to kiss you.”