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“Feel it,” he finishes. “I wish I didn’t know what you mean, but I do.”

He leans against the dresser, folding his arms. “When you’re not the favorite, it’s almost like you become a problem. And you start to believe that shit, too.”

His tone is flat, but I feel the weight behind it. I hear the pain in every syllable.

“What do you mean?” I ask gently, but I’m pretty sure I already know.

“Group homes.” His eyes drop to the floor. “There were favorites even in there. The staff would just have some kids they liked more. No rhyme or reason that I could tell. And trust me, I tried my hardest to figure that shit out.”

He blows out a breath. “The rest of us got the shitty hand-me-downs and half-broken toys. Maybe a birthday cake every fewyears if anybody remembered. After a while, you learn not to expect it. You learn not to expectanything.”

His voice is so cold, it scares me.

“Foster homes were hit or miss,” he continues. “Mostly miss.”

I move toward him, approaching slowly like you would a wounded animal that might bolt. When I reach him, I wrap my arms around him without hesitation, pressing my face to his chest.

He stiffens at first like he doesn’t know what to do with the contact. But then, after a breath, his arms wrap around me, cautiously pulling me closer.

It takes a minute, but I finally feel his body relax. He exhales, deep and shaky, like he’s been holding that breath for far too long.

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’m so sorry you went through that.”

I pull back just enough to look up at him. His eyes search mine. For what, I don’t know. But I don’t look away. I wait for him to find what he needs.

“From what I’ve seen, you have a good heart,” I say. “You’re so protective. You’re gentle. You’re safe. It doesn’t sound like anybody taught you that. It’s coming from your heart.”

He shakes his head. “Do you realize who you’re saying that to? You have to, right?”

“I mean…yeah. Of course. I didn’t say you were a saint, Julian. I can only go by what I’ve seen these past few days. And felt.” I put my hand over his heart. “There’s good in here, despite whatever’s in your past.”

He shrugs.

“Look at how you are with my girls.”

“They’re kids. Kids are easy to love and protect. They’re innocent.”

“So were you.”

Something flickers across his face. Pain, I think. And maybe a soft kind of gratitude he doesn’t know how to express. He pulls me closer, and I think maybe that’s what it is.

It breaks my heart, because I don’t think he knows how easy he is to love. Not that I love him, but I’m starting to care about him. I’m becoming attached to him. I don’t like seeing him hurt. And from what I remember, those are all precursors to love.

I don’t know how I got here.

He takes a breath like he’s about to say something, but then we hear the girls’ laughter spilling out of the kitchen and the spell breaks.

“I should check on them,” I mumble, letting my fingers trail over his forearm as I turn away. I don’t miss the way his eyes roam over me, but there’s nothing I can do about it right now. My daughters need me, and I’m not blind to the fact that me being a mother is something he admires about me.

After a dinner of frozen pizzas, the girls sit with Julian at the table making a grocery list. He says he’ll go out alone and be back before we wake up in the morning. While they tend to that, I do the dishes.

Me and the girls do our nighttime routine. As much as I want to spend some time with Julian tonight, I stay with the girls. I missed them so much.

But I miss him, too.

I text him this, because I have no problem opening up and sharing my feelings. Part of me is hoping he’ll mirror that back to me, but I don’t get my hopes up.

Five minutes later, I’m staring at my phone and smiling.