“I do love Fern,” Ambrose admitted, his voice hushed, his gaze heavy with confession, and felt a frisson of shock at the truth. He did love her. “I think about her all the time. When I’m not with her I’m miserable . . . but when I’m with her I’m miserable too, because I know it’s Fern that’s settling. Look at me, Bailey! Fern could have anyone she wanted. Me? Not so much.”
