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Her face changed. Regret flashed across it. "Damon, I⁠—"

"No. You don't get to tell me I don't know what I'm feeling just because you're scared of feeling it too."

She flinched. I hated that. Hated that I'd put that look on her face.

But I wasn't taking it back. Not this time. "You want to know what love feels like to me?" I asked.

She didn't answer. I put her hand over my chest, I wanted her to feel the heart that was beating just for her.

"It feels like not being able to think about anything but you. Like missing you when you’ve been away from me for five minutes. Like hearing your laugh and knowing I'd do anything to hear it again. Like watching you take on the whole damn world and wishing you'd let me stand beside you while you do it."

A tear rolled down her cheek.

"It feels like you, Mikayla."

She stared at me. Then breathed, "I don’t know if I can do this."

"I know."

"What if you're wrong?"

I stepped forward, closing the distance between us. "What if I'm not?"

She looked at my mouth. Then back at my eyes. "You're infuriating."

"So I've been told."

"Arrogant."

"Occasionally."

"Completely impossible."

"Frequently."

Her hands curled into the front of my shirt. "And I don't know what to do with you."

"If you’re taking suggestions, I’d say start with kissing me."

She stared at me for one heartbeat. Two. Then she rose onto her toes. And kissed me.

I caught her face between my hands and kissed her back. No pretending. No audience. No agreement.

Just us. Just her. My girl.

Her fingers slid into my hair, and I pulled her against me, every inch of space between us suddenly unacceptable.

She made a soft sound against my mouth. And I was done for. Completely. Irrevocably.

I backed her against the barn wall, one hand settling at her waist while the other cradled the back of her head.

She kissed me harder. Like she was angry. Like she was terrified. Like she wanted to believe me so badly it hurt.

I knew the feeling. I finally broke our kiss, so I didn’t come in my pants. We were both breathing hard. Her lipstick was gone. My self-control was holding on by a very thin thread.

I rested my forehead against hers. "Still think I'm faking?"

She shook her head.