She sucked a breath, the realization running straight to her stomach. He’d always been affectionate, yes—and she’d thought nothing of it. But every time he’d touched her, every time he’d kissed her forehead or her temple or the back of her hand, every time he’d folded himself around her… perhaps each moment had been its own confession. And she, in her endless attitude of I bet you say that to all the girls and at least half of the boys, had utterly ignored it. She’d argued herself out of any possibility that even the most obvious sign was just another affection she didn’t deserve.
