The Belle and the Beard (The Santillian Triplets, #3)

by Kate Canterbary

After she left, she'd always be the beautiful maybe-burglar who blew into my life with a cloud of bats at her back and a toxic banana bread. She'd always be the woman who told an eternity of secrets the first time she stepped into the heart of the woods. She'd always be the woman who made my heart stop when I saw fire trucks outside her house and the one who got woozy at the sight of blood. She was the one who'd catalyzed ordinary concern for my neighbor into the kind of worry that kept me up nights. And she was the only woman I'd ever met who could make a meal out of toasted bread. I wasn't getting attached.

"Because I want to hold you, and if you'd stop acting like you don't need anyone for just a minute, you might decide you want to be held." She folded the blanket and fiddled with her drink. "I don't want to need anyone or anything. That isn't a place I like being." "I know." I took the bottle from her hands, set it down. "But I'm standing here, needing you.