He drifted closer and she could hear each breath. He took her wrist in his hand and drew her nearer. Her body charged with something unreasonable and joyous, but fear fell into her chest, too. Once they had done this, there could be no turning it back. Did love always come joined with a certain amount of trepidation? Along with the good feelings, was there always dread that something wouldn’t go right or that love could be lost? Love and fear seemed twined like stalks of a grapevine—so close they couldn’t be separated.
