Silence fills the tight space, and it feels like the world spins as our gazes lock for a brief, suspended moment. Jamie’s expression softens. The sharp furrow in his brow fades. The hard, flat line of his mouth surrenders to a faint lopsided tilt. But it’s those eyes I can’t stop staring at. His hazel eyes are a September night—bonfire-smoke rims, irises the color of golden firelight dancing on the last green leaves of summer. They are unfairly lovely.