“You’re lashing out at me because you’re scared. That’s why you came over. You’re scared of being happy for one single second.” He inhales, swallowing and staring at me with a pointed look. “And maybe you’re even scared of…of falling in love again.” “Love?” I ask with wide eyes, but my heart is hammering. Because maybe he knows. He knows. And what do I do with that? What will happen if he knows? “You’re one to talk.” “What?”
