I’m relieved that she’s giving me this, that she wants what I want, but I’m anxious because I’ve never done this before. Never have I had feelings like this for anyone. Not even close to thinking that I could.

She presses her fingers into me, tightening her hold, and I keep my hands on her jaw, marking her as mine like some pathetic puppy, but I do it anyway.

She moves with me, sliding her tongue along mine—gently—without any sign of urgency, and I love that about her. That she would want the time the same way I do.

When I feel her move her hands out from under my coat and wrap around my wrists, I pull back and ask, “Should we get out of here?”

“Let’s stay.”

“Come here,” I say as I slide her on top of my lap, and she slips her arm around my neck, steadying herself on me.

“Can I ask you something?” she says quietly.

“Anything.”

“I never asked before because I didn’t want to intrude, but . . . where’s your father?” she asks with a hint of trepidation.

I don’t talk to anyone about my dad. Never have. I hide it, bury it, and mask it with vices that make it easier to deal with. But I know she’s hiding something too. I wish I knew what it was, so I go ahead and break off a piece of me and give it to her. “He died about ten years ago.”

“I’m sorry,” she says and drops her head away from me—abashed. “I shouldn’t have asked.”

“Candace, you can ask me anything,” I tell her as I lift her chin up. “I don’t want you to feel like you can’t, okay?” I don’t know what else to say, but I do know I want her to start opening up to me.

“Yeah,” she breathes softly.

“My dad was an asshole,” I tell her, wanting to be honest with her. “He drank way too much and was never around, but when he was, he was a total dick. So, don’t feel bad for asking, because I don’t feel bad that he’s dead.” I know my words come out hard, but they come out in truth.

She scans my face for a moment. She knows there’s more behind my words, but I don’t elaborate because what I just gave her is more than I’ve given anyone. So I leave it.

I clutch her waist and hold on to her when she looks over my shoulder and asks, “Is there a trail up there?”

“Yeah, it’s a pretty decent path if you want to go up there.”

“Yeah, let’s go,” she suggests, and I eye her leopard rain boots, asking, “Those have enough traction?”

Laughing, she says, “We’ll see.”

Stealing another kiss from her, enjoying the freedom of being able to, I stand and smile down at her before scooping her up and over my shoulder. This chick weighs nothing, and she begins to laugh as I haul her up the stairs. The giggles and squeals coming out of her are beautiful, and she never complains. I adore this side of her.

After hiking in the rain for over an hour, I didn’t let the fact that we were rain-soaked stop me from taking Candace into Seaside to the Broadway Strip. We took our time, walking in and out of the shops and grabbing lunch.

We came home and had an early dinner before everyone said goodbye and headed back home. It’s just the two of us and my mom, so we’ve made no plans for the night. After Candace gets cleaned up, she makes herself comfortable on the couch downstairs, reading a book, while I take a quick shower.

I was surprised with how easygoing she was after our talk on the beach. We fell into the laidback feeling we have built up to in our friendship, but now there’s no more grey.

Toweling off, I throw on a pair of pajama pants and dry my hair. I hear my mom’s voice when I walk out of the room, and I start making my way down the stairs, spotting Candace and my mom sitting on the couch.

“No child should ever have to hear that,” I overhear my mom telling Candace and I ask, “Hear what?” curious as to what they’re chatting about.

As I walk across the room, I notice Candace’s splotchy face, and I know she’s been crying. She keeps from looking at me as she faces my mother, so I take a seat next to her on the couch and slip my arm around her when my mom answers me.

“Candace is telling me about what happened the other night.”

“Mom.” I’ve been avoiding asking Candace how she’s been feeling about the whole situation to keep from upsetting her.

“It’s fine,” Candace assures me, so I stay quiet and listen as they continue to talk.

I watch my mom take ahold of Candace’s hand when she asks, “Do you have any other family at all?”

“No. It’s only ever been the three of us since my father’s parents passed away.”

“What about your mother’s family?”

“I’ve never met them,” Candace tells her. “I have never known them to speak. I’m not even sure they know about me.” Her voice trembles as she says this, and I run my hand up her back, wondering why she would have a side of her family that she’s being kept away from. But before I can question it too much, my mother leans in and takes Candace in her arms, hugging her. We both have her in our hold when she begins weeping.

I feel horrible, but glad that she’s here with me and that she would open up to my mother, who’s nearly a stranger to her. I think of how long it took Candace to show me even a hint of this side of herself, but I know my mom has a way about her that can make anyone want to open up. She’s always been that person for me, so seeing her provide Candace a little of that when I know she’s probably never gotten it from her own parents is a good thing.

My mom pulls back, telling Candace exactly what I’m feeling as she wipes the tears from Candace’s cheeks.

“I’m glad you’re here with us.” Candace only nods when my mom says, “I’ll let the two of you be,” before walking out of the room.

I pull Candace to me, resting her back onto my chest as I lean against the armrest. She continues to let out soft whimpers.

“Don’t cry, babe,” I say quietly.

“I’m tired,” she tells me. “I don’t want to talk anymore.”

So I don’t say anything else. Taking her hand, I lead her upstairs so that she can lie down. It’s late, and I’m sure she’s exhausted from our busy day.

I let go of her hand when we hit the doorway and watch as she walks into the bathroom. I wait, listening to the faucet run, and when she returns, she doesn’t say anything as she looks at me and gets into my bed.

Her back is facing me, and I’m not sure what she wants me to do. I know what I want to do, so I swallow the questioning thoughts and decide to not leave her in here alone. I walk over to the edge of the bed, pull back the covers, and slide in behind her. She’s curled into a ball, so I wrap myself around her, tucking her into me, when she wedges her hand underneath mine for me to hold. This small move is all I need to assure me that she wants me with her tonight, so I stay.

Waking up with Candace is something that I can get used to, and I want to. So much so, that when I dropped her off at her house after we drove back to Seattle today, I asked her to stay at my loft tonight. She didn’t want to at first, hell, even after trying to talk to her about why she’s so apprehensive about it, I still don’t think she wants to, but she wound up agreeing anyway.

I know that Jase told me that she was inexperienced, but I’m not quite sure how inexperienced he meant. After seeing how shy she was when I told her I wanted her here tonight, I’m pretty sure this girl is more innocent than I thought. But I want her here, and I want her in my bed. I’ve never wanted anyone in my bed. I avoid it. Always have. Always keeping everyone I’ve ever brought here downstairs. But her . . . I want it with her.

Getting a drink of water, I see headlights shine through the windows as her car pulls into my drive. She had to work the closing shift tonight, so it’s a little past midnight as I watch her get out of her car. I head over to the door and wait for her to knock, but when I hear nothing, I wonder if she’s having second thoughts. Hell, I’m surprised she came in the first place with how hesitant she was earlier. I startle her when I open the door.