She looked at him, taking in a face that was almost more familiar to her than her own. His golden features, his warm eyes, his slightly too-long hair with the faintest curls dropping past the tops of his ears and brushing his neck. He looked so hurt, so vulnerable, and she blamed herself.

He touched her cheek, his hand as cool as his lips had been. “I just worry that he’s careless. I don’t know if I trust him, Vi.”

“He saved me once. What more do you want?”

“I want to know that he’d protect you the way I would if something happens. That he has your best interests in mind.” And then he sighed, a ragged, defeated sound. He ran his hand through his already rumpled hair. “That’s a lie. I want my girlfriend to stop spending so much time with another guy. I wanna know that you two don’t share some sort of bond because of what you can do. But what I really want is to know that he doesn’t have feelings for you.”

Violet was speechless. She had no idea how—or what—to say to any of that. She could defend her relationship with Rafe by saying that they only worked together, but it wouldn’t matter. Partly because she’d be lying. Of course they shared a bond, one Jay would never truly understand. And she certainly wasn’t going to quit the team because of that.

But it was that last part, the thing about Rafe having feelings for her, that really made her pause. Rafe didn’t like her, not in the way Jay meant.

Fortunately for Violet, she didn’t have to speak because Jay wasn’t finished yet. “But, honestly, you know what bothers me more than anything?” She shook her head, and he continued, his voice so low it sounded like a whisper rumbling up from his heart. “It’s that I can’t do anything for you when you’re in this kind of pain, Vi.”

Eyes wide now, Violet released the shaky breath she’d been holding.

Jay leaned forward, resting his forehead against hers while he scooped up both of her hands and squeezed them tight. As their breath mingled Violet wondered when she’d set her own cup down. They remained there like that—like marble sculptures—frozen nose-to-nose, mouth-to-mouth.

Then she felt his lips move against hers, and she closed her eyes when he whispered, “I wish I could make things better. I wish I could stop you from hurting.”

Speechless, Violet tipped her head back, just enough so that their lips were no longer just brushing, so she could make him kiss her. She needed to taste him, to draw strength from him as she pressed herself nearer to him, straining to be closer still. She freed one hand from his and cupped the back of his neck, her fingers digging into his hair, telling him—without words—not to pull away.

He kissed her back, in response to her restless request, giving her only what she needed. He stayed cool and restrained, never pushing her for anything more than what she asked for.

Violet’s toes curled inside her shoes and she wished that they were somewhere, anywhere, besides sitting on the edge of the sidewalk in front of the auto parts store. Finally, when she peeled her cherry-flavored lips from his, they still burned from his touch. “You do make things better,” she exhaled, her voice sounding faraway even to herself. “You make me feel . . . normal.”

Jay laughed, hauling Violet against his chest. She felt safe with his hands spanning her back. “And that’s good?” he laughed. “Most people want to be anything but normal.”

Listening to the rhythm of his heart, she smiled, feeling the deep fog lift from around her, over her, as she concentrated—focused—just like Dr. Lee had taught her. “Trust me, normal’s good. Very, very good.”

She felt suddenly shy about what she was about to ask but she let the words tumble from her lips anyway. “Can we go back to your house for a while?”

Jay squeezed tighter, his arms still wrapped around her with the unspoken promise of never letting her go. “For as long as you want, Violet.”

Exclusivity

IT HAD BEEN HARD TO WAIT ALL DAY. HE’D BEEN impatient, anxious. Excited.

He loved that butterfly feeling deep in the pit of his stomach, the fluttering sensation that came with the birth of each new relationship. He felt giddy just thinking about her, dizzy with the anticipation of every new first they would soon share as a couple.

The first time their eyes would meet, and hold—ripe with understanding. The moment their skin would graze—accidentally at first, and then once more, with purpose. Their first kiss—tentative and slow, and then again more passionately.

All of those firsts they had to look forward to . . .

He watched as she opened the back door to the café, the one leading to the alley where her car was parked, just as she did at the end of each shift. Though it was barely dark yet, her gaze flitted in every direction, watchful. Wary.

She wasn’t stupid; he would never have chosen a stupid girlfriend. As she released the café door behind her, he saw that she gripped her keys in her fist, a defensive maneuver that he easily recognized.

Definitely not a dumb girl, he thought, smiling to himself.

She darted quickly, her footsteps purposeful, determined. It was less than fifteen paces to her car—he knew because he’d already counted them—and he watched as she reached it easily while he stayed low, tucked away in the shadows and out of sight.

He waited until she was safely inside, keeping his breathing low and in check, until he heard the click of her locks. Until he knew she felt safe.

Now all he had to do was wait for his part.