Not once.
He stood his ground and took back all that man had stolen from him when he was just a child.
His pride. His sense of self-worth. Dignity. Respect.
And when it mattered?
When it really mattered?
Benji defended me.
Me.
My lips press together as I reapply my lip balm, trying to hide the way my smile keeps threatening to break free.
It’s pointless.
I’m glowing.
Like a total idiot.
God.
I feel like a girl with the biggest crush.
Which is ridiculous.
Because I’m not a girl.
And this isn’t a crush.
This is history.
Complicated, messy, slightly unhinged history with a man who can still knock the breath out of me with one look.
But still.
The way he grabbed my hand.
The way he didn’t hesitate.
The way he called me sweetheart like it belonged there—I press my lips together again, harder this time.
Get it together, Esme.
You are not some green virgin with her first crush.
You are not spiraling over a man who broke your heart.
Even if he did just punch someone in the face for calling you a name.
Okay.
So, maybe I am doing a little spiraling.
I sneak a glance at him as he pulls the truck back onto the road.
He looks different.
