“Kes grinned, his eyes sliding to mine. “Jealous?”
I huffed a little, but then admitted the truth. “Yes, I’m jealous.”
His gaze softened. “You don’t need to be,” he said softly. “Sorcha’s just a friend.”
“That’s what you call me,” I said, stupid tears making my eyes prickle.
Kes shook his head slowly. “No, you’re my girl.”
…
He reached out and brushed his thumb along my bottom lip.
“You’re my girl, Aimee. No one else.”
Then he leaned forward and pressed his lips against mine.”
―
Jane Harvey-Berrick,
The Traveling Man