He cups my face, his thumb stroking my cheek. “One day at a time,” he says, his amber eyes boring powerfully into mine, “that’s how we’re going to take this.” One day at a time. “Isn’t that too slow for you?” I ask. The Loren Hale that I’m used to wants no delay on life, no drawing out the agony. He hates the wait. I watch his gaze fall to my belly. And then they flicker to my features. He searches them like he’s engraining each freckle, each piece of me. “Life moves too quickly,” he says. “I don’t want to speed through a single moment. Not anymore.” I cry into a laugh because I never thought
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