Page 71 of Merry Fake Bride

He leans away from me, which sends a pang of disappointment through my chest.

He’s only doing that because he’s a gentleman who has taken my aversion to touch seriously ever since I first told him.

He didn’t question me.

He didn’t try to tell me I was wrong.

He just accepted it.

A testament to his kindness, I think.

Kindness that I ache to soak myself in.

Ever since learning how much pain he carries, it’s like we’re more kindred spirits than I realized.

It’s only when he sighs that I realize he was talking the entire time I was lost in my thoughts about how stunningly attractive he is so, daringly, I reach out and lightly touch his elbow.

“I’m so sorry, I was miles away. Can you repeat that?”

Kairo’s dark eyes, almost black in this low light, glance to where my fingertips linger on his elbow and then up to my eyes.

His smile remains soft. “Wow. Not even listening. That’s crazy.”

“I was!” I pout softly. “I was just distracted by…”

“By?” His voice is just above a whisper.

“My tea.”

“Oh, of course. Well… I was saying that my trouble sleeping, I think, is because I feel…”

His mouth twists briefly, and he moves one large hand from the crook of his elbow to his chest. “Exposed. I know it sounds crazy, but what we spoke about on the bridge is the first time I’ve ever told anyone that. At least the parts about how it makes me feel.”

“That’s the beauty of stopping to take in the world.” I smile up at him. “You end up finding a bubble that makes you feel safe enough to give your wounds time to breathe. It’s healthy, or so I’m told.”

“And what makes you feel safe?” Kairo asks, his voice a touch softer than before.

I can’t look away.

It’s like his eyes have me pinned in place, but it doesn’t give me the usual urge to run away.

Instead, I ache to be closer so I slide half a step toward him.

Yousits on the tip of my tongue, but that confession is far too bold.

As soon as I admit that something or everything about him makes me feel safe, it leads to questions about what makes me feel unsafe, and that’s a can of worms I refuse to open.

Even though Kairo trusts me enough to share, I can’t revisit what I determinedly left behind.

What I need is just time.

The washing machine clunks as the cycle runs, but neither of us looks away from one another.

“I don’t know,” I murmur. “I like the way the world is after a blizzard. Everything is quiet and soft. It’s like a fresh sheet is laid out for us to do whatever we want and the first steps in the crisp white snow feel like a new beginning.”

“And that makes you feel safe.”

“It makes me feel like there’s potential to be safe, yeah.”