Who is this man? The Fitz Higgins I had conjured up in my head for the past seven months would have never crocheted blankets for his mom and hats for his nephews. The Fitz Higgins I thought I knew was arrogant, insistent, and a pain in the ass. Why did I never assume there could’ve been more to him than that? My throat is dry when I speak again. “That’s really sweet. I had no idea you were into crocheting.” Fitz stares at me now, his gaze heavy and serious. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, Wendy.”
