Dean’s hair was loose today, all those light-brown strands framing his face and brushing his shoulders. He was dressed casually in loose jeans and a plain gray henley, almost like he wanted to blend into the background. As if that were possible for a man like him.
And he was holding a huge picnic basket. Which was odd, but somehow endearing.
“I hope it’s okay I stopped by. Brought you something.”
My hip leaned against the doorframe. “What is it?”
He smiled slightly. “Can I come in and show you?”
“Why should I let you?”
“Because I miss you. And I’m sorry.”
Not fair. Not fair at all.
I exhaled. His words had knocked the breath out of me. I wished I wasn’t still so affected by him, but some things were involuntary.
Maybe I was too soft. But he’d said he was sorry, so didn’t I owe it to him to let him explain?
I opened the door wider and stepped aside to let him in.
He crossed the threshold, set the basket down, and paused in the entryway, looking around. “Nice place. I was surprised when I heard you’d moved back to Hartley. I thought you liked Silver Ridge.”
“You thought I would stay in exactly the same place after you left?” I asked testily.
“Not what I meant.”
“It’s better being closer to headquarters. And to Last Refuge.” I sounded so defensive.
“Makes sense,” he said simply, and for some reason, that annoyed me. Why was he so easygoing sometimes, and impossibly infuriating at others?
“You’ve changed. Why wouldn’t I?”
“Have I changed?” he asked, blue eyes drilling into me.
“Well, there’s the hair. For starters.”
“Too long?”
“No, I…” My throat felt too dry when I swallowed. “I guess it’s all right.”
His dimple appeared, and that was way too much for me.
Goosebumps spread over my skin, prickling with sensitivity. I had to get out of this narrow entryway because there wasn’t enough space for the both of us here. He was too warm, and he smelled good, and my memories of him were colliding with my present in too many ways.
“Might as well come all the way in.” I shut the door. Dean untied his boots. He’d remembered I didn’t like shoes tracking dirt inside.
His socks were green with tiny skis on them, and I wondered if they’d been a gift. If some girlfriend had bought them for him.
Ugh, not my business.
I walked into the living room and sat on the couch. Dean carried that ridiculous basket with him, setting it at his feet when he took the chair across from me. He clasped his hands together, elbows on his knees.
“How are you feeling?” he asked.
I remembered what I’d meant to say to him earlier, when I’d opened the door. I was going to demand,What are you really doing here?
But when I opened my mouth now, that wasn’t what came out. “You missed me? Really?”
