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“There he is.”
His laughter dies.
“Don’t.”
“Don’t what?”
“Look at me like that.”
“Like what?”
“Like you still know me.”
I step closer.
Close enough to smell soap and coffee and the faint scent of leather clinging to his shirt.
Close enough to feel the heat coming off his body.
“I do know you, Gray.”
His eyes darken.
“You don’t know what you’re saying.”
“I know exactly what I’m saying.”
“Autumn.”
“Grayson.”
His gaze drops to my mouth.
My pulse skips.
For one reckless second, I think he’s going to kiss me.
I want him to.
God help me, I want him to so badly it hurts.
But he doesn’t move.
He just stands there, jaw tight, looking at me like I’m something he wants desperately and doesn’t believe he’s allowed to touch.
So I rise onto my toes and brush my lips against his cheek.
His breath catches.
“There,” I whisper. “See? Still alive.”
He doesn’t smile.
Doesn’t speak.
Just turns his face away, staring out the window like the answer to everything he’s lost might be waiting somewhere beyond the glass.
And for the first time since he came home, I realize something.
