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RORY

There’s nothing to be nervous about.

Like Isla reminded me last night, this is Gage. Not douchenozzle Darren from college.

Gage thinks I’m beautiful despite my scars. Or rather, as he said yesterday, he thinks they’re beautiful, too.

It’s still hard to wrap my mind around it. After years—decades, really—of wishing I could look more like everyone else, I found someone who likes me just as I am.

And not just someone. Gage. Kind, smart, courageous Gage, who is by far the most handsome man I’ve ever met.

Just thinking about it is enough to bring on another wave of insecurity. The nagging voice that’s haunted me since I was sixteen comes creeping back in, asking in its furtive whisper, Are you sure you’re good enough? Pretty enough? What if Gage changes his mind?

When I looked into the mirror as I got ready this morning, I couldn’t stop looking at my scars. And the longer I looked at them, the worse they seemed to get, until my face morphed from just me into a version of the Bride of Frankenstein.

Which is ridiculous. I know, intellectually, that they aren’t that bad.

Still. I spent a good twenty minutes carefully applying concealer and foundation and powder in an attempt to cover them. Then I realized how fake it looked, all caked on and unnatural, and washed everything off again.

After all , I told my reflection, Gage has seen me without any makeup . He knows how I look. He’s seen my scars in the unforgiving sunlight and under the fluorescent lights at the hospital. What’s the point of trying to cover them now?

So I settled on some blush and a light application of mascara, spritzed on some leave-in conditioner with a hint of shimmer, and changed into my favorite green wraparound shirt, the one that’s almost the same olive shade as my eyes.

Then I spent the next hour pacing around the cabin, dusting and fluffing pillows and wiping down the kitchen counters until they were so clean dirt wouldn’t dare touch them.

And I forbade myself to look in the mirror again, even though I desperately wanted to check. I kept thinking, but what if my mascara smeared? What if my blush is too bright? What if I have a rogue hair sticking up on the top of my head?

It was almost enough to make me bolt for the bathroom again.

But as I peered through the front window for the umpteenth time, checking for Gage even though he wasn’t due to arrive for another fifteen minutes, something else occurred to me.

Something I should have thought of sooner, if I hadn’t been so wrapped up in my own worries.

What if Gage is feeling insecure, too?

It was no small thing, what he shared with me yesterday.

Considering that, it gave me some much-needed perspective.

After all, I’m not the only one who worries about being judged.

I’m not the only one battling demons that have haunted me for years.

And I’m not the only one who’s met with a daily reminder of my injuries.

Thinking about what Gage went through makes me feel protective of him in a way I’ve never felt about anyone before.

I want to take away the terrible memories and nightmares he’s alluded to having, shield him from anyone who might think to stare, and reassure him that he’s perfect as he is, reminding him over and over until he believes it.

And he is perfect. At least, he is to me.

My breath catches as I spot him rounding the corner of the road, heading in my direction. His stride is long and purposeful, but with a lightness to it, like maybe he’s looking forward to this date as much as me.

When he starts up the front path, my stomach explodes into a kaleidoscope of butterflies.

Rushing to the door, I wrestle with the three complicated locks before yanking it open. Gage is just at the top of the steps, and as soon as he sees me, his step falters for a second. There’s a moment when he just stares at me, emotion working in his eyes.

My heart makes a sickening swoop to my feet as my old frenemy, insecurity, tries to worm its way in. The irksome voice muses, Maybe he’s disappointed. Maybe he’s regretting this whole date idea.

Then I see it. The worry in his gaze. The uncertainty.

I remember him admitting yesterday that he hasn’t been on a date in over four years.

My chest squeezes.

Smiling, I step across the threshold and onto the front porch. A beat later, Gage grins, his face lighting up with it. And before I can say anything, he sweeps me into his arms. Pressed against his chest, I can feel his heart racing. His lips press to the top of my head.

Then he pulls back slightly, just enough to look down at me. “You look beautiful, Ror.”

The butterflies settle. “So do you.” I laugh, feeling lighter than I have all morning. “I mean handsome. Men are supposed to be handsome, right? Not beautiful?”

Although handsome might be an understatement.

In khaki pants and a light blue short-sleeved button-up shirt, he looks a little dressier than I’m used to seeing him, but it works.

The pale blue contrasts with his tanned arms, and the fabric strains a bit at his shoulders and very impressive biceps.

His hair is neatly combed and his face is clean-shaven instead of his usual day-old stubble.

In the sun, his eyes sparkle with glints of amber and gold, almost the same shade as the highlights in his hair.

My gaze lingers on his biceps—have they always been that muscly?—for longer than I intended, and when Gage chuckles, I quickly jerk my attention back to his face.

Maybe he didn’t notice me staring?

Grinning, he says, “Handsome or beautiful; I’ll take either.” Then he touches my cheek, his thumb stroking across my skin. “Do you like my shirt?”

Or maybe he did.

My face warms. “Yes. It’s really nice.” After a brief pause, I add in a bright tone, “Anyway. Do you want to come in? Have a drink? Or…”

For a second, I think he’s going to call me out on it. But instead, Gage just leans down to brush his lips across mine. “I really like your shirt, Ror. It’s the same color as your gorgeous eyes. And the way it fits…”

His hand moves to my waist, the heat of it searing through fabric and into my skin. “You look stunning,” he adds, his gaze holding mine. “And I can’t believe how lucky I am that you agreed to go on a date with me.”

“ I feel lucky.” Suddenly emboldened, I trail my fingers along his biceps. “And I really like how your shirt fits, too.”

“Oh, yeah?” It’s low. Rough. His fingers tighten on my waist, drawing me closer to him.

Something coils deep inside me, aching and insistent.

Longing sweeps through me, along with the reawakening of my long-dormant libido. I’ve always been attracted to Gage, ever since that first day, but I wouldn’t allow myself to consider the possibility. I couldn’t let myself hope.

Now? It’s scary, the idea of baring myself to him. But I think it might be worth the risk.

“Yeah.” Is that sultry voice mine ? “I do.”

Gage’s eyes go dark. His jaw tightens. An emotion that looks a lot like desire moves across his face. He starts to say something, but stops. Then he takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly. “So. Are you ready for our date?”

A shaft of disappointment spears through me, as ridiculous as it is. It’s not like we’re about to head inside to have sex on our very first date, even if my body is suddenly declaring itself ready.

“I’m good.” Poking my head back into the cabin, I call over to Toby and Elmore, who are both sprawled across the couch, “Be good. I’ll be back in a little while.”

They lift their heads, eyeballing Gage as they consider the odds of a treat being given.

“Later,” Gage tells them. Then he holds his hands up in what I call the no-treats-jazz-hands gesture. “I might have something special for you guys for later. If you behave.”

“That reminds me,” he adds as I shut the door behind me. “I talked to Max. He said Charlie and Bandit are all settled in. And he just bought the materials to start on the fence, so they should have free run of the backyard by next week.”

“Oh, that’s great! I was a little worried, with Charlie being new, that he might not adjust to a different environment that quickly.”

Gage puts his hand on my back while we walk down the front steps. “From what Max said, they’re both doing really well.” Once we get to the path, his fingers lace between mine. “I know he said he’s just fostering them, but I wouldn’t be surprised if he ends up adopting them instead.”

Some of the tension banded around my chest releases.

I know all the dogs are being cared for—Enzo and Winter are fostering one, Lark and Knox another, and the rest have been placed with temporary homes until it’s safe to reopen the shelter—but I’ve been most worried about newcomer Charlie and Bandit, who’s been hard to adopt out because of the expensive speciality food he needs for his allergies.

“I know I said it before, but thank you for helping get all the dogs placed. Maybe some of the other foster families will end up adopting, too.”

Gage glances over at me. “It wasn’t just me. All the guys helped. So did Lark and Winter.”

“Maybe so, but it was your idea to look for foster homes. And really, I should have thought about doing that ages ago, at least with the dogs who are more socialized. I guess I just…”

Trailing off, I leave the rest of my thought unsaid.

But the truth of it is, I didn’t feel comfortable reaching out to people I didn’t know, doing community outreach to find foster families and additional fundraising.

I was happy paying for everything on my own and dealing with people from the relative safety of my own property.

Although it wasn’t that safe, was it?

And maybe I was cheating the dogs by not venturing out of my comfort zone.

Maybe I was cheating myself.

“Well, they’re all taken care of now. And it’s one less thing for you to worry about.” Gage slows as we approach a path branching off from the dirt road. He angles his chin in its direction. “We’re just going to head this way for a bit.”