His hands are still braced around me like he’s scared I’ll slip out of reach, and he leans closer, burying his head against the crook of my neck. His scent is stronger than the pine leaves hanging around us, or maybe I’m just more sensitive to it; all I can breathe in is the fragrance of sage. “Leah, I really … I really …” One of his hands lifts from my shoulder and braces itself against the bark of the tree behind me, his fingers clenching, nails sinking in, like it’s the only thing holding him upright. His voice is hoarse. “I really …” He doesn’t say more than that. It’s as though he won’t
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