“Hey,” Beckett said, sitting down beside me.

“Hey,” I said back.

“You never responded to my texts or answered my calls,” he said without accusation. But there was a hint of pain in his tone that was all too obvious.

“I’m sorry. I was sick all weekend,” I answered, afraid to look at him. Knowing that if I did, he’d burn me up.

Beckett was instantly concerned. He angled his body closer to me. Almost touching. But not quite.

“Are you feeling better? What was wrong?”

I smiled. I couldn’t help it. His worrying about me was nice.

I knew Beckett cared.

He cared about me.

“I’m fine. All better,” I told him, giving him my eyes. My face. Not turning away from him but turning toward him.

I looked at his lips. I couldn’t help it. If I closed my eyes, I could still remember their taste.

I was terrified.

I felt the edges of panic that threatened to take hold.

The instinct to push him away was almost overwhelming. But it was trumped by a stronger emotion.

One that only Beckett could make me feel.

Hope.

“You should have told me you weren’t feeling well. I would have brought you chicken noodle soup or something.”

I chuckled. “I hate chicken noodle soup.”

Beckett made a face. “Yeah, me too.”

The rest of the group filed in, taking their seats.

Carefully, slowly, Beckett took my hand and laced his fingers with mine. I didn’t pull away. I didn’t stiffen or fall prey to awkwardness.

What if he leaves me like Mom? Like Dad? My subconscious argued.

How will I survive that?

I had no answers. And for once I wouldn’t look for them. Beckett made me want to just be.

So I held his hand.

Palm to palm.

And it just felt right.

“Will you talk to me after? Please?” he asked, not letting go.

I nodded. Words were useless things. They never expressed exactly what needed saying.

So I didn’t bother.

Beckett looked happy. Relieved. And he didn’t let go of my hand. He held it the whole time. Balancing them on his leg.

Palm to palm.

The heat of his skin branding me as his.

I wasn’t thinking about my pain. My aches.

I felt…

Good.

—

After group was over I walked outside and sat down on a bench. I was nervous. I was excited.

Yep, there was also some nausea. But it was the good kind. If feeling like throwing up could ever be construed as “good.”

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to keep you waiting. Do you want to go get some green tea somewhere that I can smell the coffee and pretend that’s what I’m really drinking?” he asked.

“That sounds a little depressing, Beck. How about we grab something to eat and go to the bridge?” I suggested.

Beckett gave me a smile that lit up his entire face. He lifted my hand and pressed it to his cheek for just a moment. “That sounds perfect, Corin.”

I could feel his skin beneath my hand, and I was filled with the most inexplicable feeling. Something that wasn’t scary in the least.

It was like a fluttering of a thousand butterfly wings.

“How about burgers? Everyone likes burgers, right?” he offered, and all I could do was nod. Because I had apparently lost all control over my vocal chords.

So we walked down the street toward the burger joint in the middle of town. Beckett was still holding my hand and I was pretty sure my palms had started to sweat. But I didn’t worry about it. Much.

We quickly ordered two hamburgers and a large order of fries. After Beckett paid for our meals—even though I offered to pay for my own—we started toward the bridge that had connected us even before we knew each other.

Neither of us spoke for a time. The air was chilly and I shivered slightly even though I was bundled up in a heavy coat and scarf.

“Are you cold?” Beckett asked.

“A bit. But I’ll be okay,” I replied dismissively.

Beckett wrapped his arm around my shoulders, pulling me close. He rubbed his hand up and down my arm, sending a thousand tingles to all parts of my body.

“Is that better?” he asked, close to my ear. So close that his breath tickled my neck.

I nodded. Those vocal cords still weren’t working apparently.

When we reached the bridge, we sat down on a bench along the bank. Beckett released me long enough to hand me my bag of food before pulling me close again.

I unwrapped the greasy paper and took a bite of the burger. I barely tasted it. I wasn’t even that hungry. I was too focused on Beckett. And Beckett’s arm around me.

“I shouldn’t be eating this stuff,” Beckett mentioned in between mouthfuls. “But it’s okay to take a risk once in a while, right?”

I dropped my burger back in my bag and glared at him. “Not when it comes to your health, Beck. Some risks are most definitely not worth it,” I lectured.

Beckett went very quiet. He looked out at the stream, his brows furrowed, his eyes sad.

“Is that why you’ve been avoiding me? Did you realize that some risks aren’t worth it?” he asked, his voice hard.

The burger sat like a lump in the pit of my stomach.

Say something, Corin. Anything!

Just don’t tell him about that whisker you pulled out of your chin this morning!

I stayed silent.

“Your friendship means a lot to me. You’re different—”

“Oh jeez, thanks,” I deadpanned, finally finding my voice.

Beckett stared down at me with serious eyes. “You are different. For the first time since my heart attack I felt like someone understood me. You asked the questions no one else seemed to think about. You cared how I felt. What I thought. But you also helped me to realize that there are other things in my life besides the things I lost.”

His mouth was set in a firm line as though waiting for me to argue with him. I didn’t. I couldn’t. Because with him I had experienced and felt all of the same things.

And then I felt them again.

The butterflies.

Beautiful, excited butterflies.

Everywhere.

“So, yes, Corin, you’re different. You’re better.” Beckett picked up my cold, trembling hands and pressed them to his mouth, gently kissing my knuckles. I shivered again but this time it had nothing to do with the cold.

“You’re so much more to me than you realize.”

“I’m not sure you really know what you’re saying—” I began, but Beckett cut me off. He had a habit of interrupting but this time I didn’t get annoyed. Not when he was looking at me like that.

“Don’t talk to me like I don’t know my own mind!” he retorted angrily, and I couldn’t help but smile at his frustration.

“Well, I’m glad you find this all so amusing,” Beckett muttered, enfolding my hands with his and putting them in his lap. Our food had been forgotten. We were only focused on each other. These words. These truths. In the dying evening light.

I grew serious. “I’m not amused, Beck. I’m scared. So damn scared,” I whispered.

“I know you are, Corin. But I’m not. There’s nothing scary in realizing who you want to be with. It’s exciting. Exhilarating.” He leaned in and pressed his forehead against mine, closing his eyes briefly. “That’s what you make me feel, Corin. Exhilarated.”

I opened my mouth to tell him everything. He deserved to know. He made it seem so simple. To give him the secrets of my heart.

“I’m not sure you understand what you’re saying, Beck. What real chance do we have?”

Beckett opened his eyes, his gaze intense. Heady.

“We have the same chance as anyone else.”

My eyes blurred and my chest felt tight.

“What are you saying?” I asked.

Already knowing.

I knew.

“I want you to give us a chance.”

“I’m not sure, Beck. You don’t know me—”

“Then let me get to know you. I want to know everything.”

I pulled back, needing room to breathe. Distance suddenly seemed necessary.