But I hadn’t, and he’d been here, and he’d stayed. Overnight. That was already a big deal for me because I didn’t let random men in my personal space. But he wasn’t a random man; he was him, and the house felt so much more vibrant when he was there that I’d thrown caution to the wind and invited him over for the weekend. That was right. I, Sloane Kensington, had willingly invited someone to stay—count them—one, two, three nights with me, and I didn’t dread it.
