A/N: Thanks to Essy for betaing. I'm sorry this update took so long - I've been buried with work and rewrote pieces of this several times. Navigating this story toward its next arc is tough without a map. At least I've got a compass, although it only ever points me toward stuff that's already happened. Guess that explains all the throwbacks to seasons 7 - 9 in this chapter.

"Madame Lonely Heart"

"So when you said we should take advantage of having the house to ourselves…I sort of thought you were talking about something different."

"You did?"

"Uh, yeah, kind of. Otherwise I'd have worn different underwear." I probably wouldn't have been so eager to switch half my Friday shift for Sunday, either.

Luka raises his eyebrows a little. "You're wearing nice underwear?"

"You'll never know now."

"I mean…we can still do that."

I sit down on the floor. "Unpacking moving boxes kind of ruins the mood."

"Well, you know, we've had them here for six months. I thought it was time."

"Some people would consider them a form of artistic expression."

"Are you one of those people?" He tears open the lid of a box.

"I could be."

He just shakes his head a little. I decide not to argue any more. I mean, if I really can't stand this after a half an hour, I'm pretty sure I can persuade him to take advantage of the empty house in the way I'd been thinking. He tends not to need a lot of convincing.

"What is this?" He pulls out a book.

"What's what? I can't see it if – oh god, don't look at that."

"St. Paul Catholic High School, class of – "

"Give that to me." I grab for it, which is completely pointless.

He grins. "Come on, I want to see your picture."

"You really don't. Trust me."

He ignores me and starts flipping pages. "What's a glee club?"

"They spread glee. Come on, Luka."

"I want to see, what's so bad about that?"

"I don't want you to have the image of me with poodle hair cemented in your mind for the rest of your life."

"Poodle hair?" He eyes me. "Now I really want to see."

"If you're thinking it's going to be a picture of me in a little Catholic school uniform and knee socks, you should know, I got detention for a week after that photo was taken."

"Yeah?"

"Not for the reason you're hoping."

"What reason would that be?"

I scoot myself closer to him and pry the book from his hands. "Here. If you insist on scarring yourself, let me at least save time." I flip a few pages. "There. Happy?"

"That's – "

"Yup. Enjoy picturing that every time we have sex from now on."

He studies it. "You don't still have the shirt, do you?"

"Seriously?"

"There's something sort of sexy about a Catholic school girl in a Sex Pistols tee shirt."

"Not how Sister Agnes saw it. I think the phrase she used was 'Satanic prurience.'" I purse my lips. "Although Howie thought it was pretty hot."

Luka looks at me with an expression I can't quite read. "Howie?"

"Mmhmm. Guy I lost my – "

"Yeah, I know." He narrows his eyes a little. "Howie liked the shirt?"

"Are you jealous?"

He closes the book and sets it to one side. "No."

"Liar."

"Is that…you know, why?"

I laugh a little. "You mean is the shirt why we – "

"Yeah."

I shrug. "I don't know. Maybe. I mean, he asked me to homecoming a couple weeks later, so my newfound notoriety might've been a turn-on. Or maybe he thought the Sex Pistols were something besides a band. Maybe he lost a bet. Who knows?"

"Why would losing a bet mean he asks you to the dance?"

"There's like, six thousand romantic comedies to answer that question. Popular guy asks out the weird girl, suddenly she takes off her glasses and lets down her hair, and she's miraculously hot and they fall in love." I start stacking books from the box to one side. "Of course, my hair stayed pretty much where it was, and he ended up dumping me, so…"

"Idiot."

"I thought so."

He tilts his head to one side. His voice is soft. "A person would have to be pretty stupid to break up with you."

I hesitate. I'm not sure whether he's making a point or has selective amnesia. "Is that right?"

"It is." He eyes me. Okay. No memory loss, then. "He's probably still kicking himself."

I lean over and he meets me halfway, cupping my cheek in his hand as he kisses me. "He should probably think about getting past that."

He settles back on the floor and reaches out to brush his hand across my knee. "Never."

I can't decide if it's sweet or sad that he's still dwelling on something that happened seven years ago. Particularly since it wasn't all his decision. I kind of backed him into a corner, like I was daring him to keep wanting me even though I was pushing him away.

Okay, so I guess I haven't totally moved on, either.

"So what about you?"

"What about me?" He folds up the empty box.

"Didn't they have high school dances in Croatia?"

He grimaces. "They did."

"And?"

"And…nothing. I went a couple of times, but it was…I don't know, awkward."

"Well, yeah. It's high school." He doesn't say anything, just starts opening the next box. "Come on, I told you my sordid tale of high school romance. You never took a girl to a dance?"

He shrugs. "Daniela's father wouldn't let her go. Her whole family was very religious, but her father was…I had to ask his permission to take her for ice cream. It was like a police interrogation. I almost pissed myself."

I smile at the mental image of Luka at sixteen, skinny and awkward and scared out of his mind. "And you put up with it because you were a nice boy."

"I became a nice boy. I was – I don't know if it was love, but it was something, and after the first time she turned me down – "

"She turned you down?"

He nods. "Twice. The second time I asked why, and she said it was because I wasn't serious enough. She said I didn't take my studies seriously and got into too much trouble and her father would never give her permission to go out with me. So…I reformed my image."

I start laughing. He looks at me with a confused expression. Somehow that makes me laugh harder.

"What's so funny?"

"I'm sorry, it's just – I think it's adorable. You're basically the Croatian Danny Zuko."

"The what?"

"From Grease. All you need is a leather jacket and a convertible."

"I didn't have a car until after we were married." He gives a soft snort. "And I'm not sure a Yugo would fly off into the sunset like that, anyway. It would probably burst into flames first."

"Still." I rest my elbow on my knee and head in my hand. "A piece of shit car and a nice Croatian boy…even if he was just faking it…better than Howie Thomas any day."

"Abby?"

"Hmm?" I look up from my cup of tea to see Luka frowning down at me. "Sorry, what?"

"You okay? I asked if you wanted me to start dinner."

"Sure."

"I mean, we can wait until later, but Isaac said he'd drop Joe off around six, so I thought – "

"No, dinner now is fine."

He sits down beside me on the sofa and brushes his fingers over my cheek. "You sure you're okay?"

I smile. Kind of. "Yeah. I don't know, I was just…spacing out. Thinking about…stuff."

"Any stuff specifically, or just…?"

I set my tea on the coffee table and lean into him a little. He wraps one arm around me. "Stuff about high school. About when I was younger. I don't know, it just kind of made me think, hearing you talk about Danijela…I wonder if I'd done things different in high school, if I'd have gotten my shit together sooner."

"What do you mean?"

"I mean…from what you said, it sounds like she knew exactly what she wanted at that age. And you did, too. Whereas I was pretty much focused on avoiding Maggie and on cultivating an image of not giving a shit."

He leans back a little on the couch, bringing me with him. "But you did?"

"I think if you'd have met me back then, you'd have thought I had my stuff together. I got good grades, I dated the popular guys, I played softball, I pissed off the nuns – and I went out of my way to act like I didn't care. I don't know. It just made me think about how I did the exact same thing as an adult. Not caring about being kicked out of med school, or about being a doctor, or about who I was dating…I just sort of wonder how much time and energy I'd have saved if somebody told me to cut the shit. Assuming I actually listened to them."

He's quiet for a few minutes, running his fingers up and down my arm. As he turns his head so his lips are touching my temple, he exhales, and I shiver. "I didn't have any of that together, either. I knew who I wanted to be with and that I wanted to be a doctor, but I still…I made a lot of mistakes. So did Danijela. She never said a word about it, and I was too much of an idiot to ask, but I know she wanted something for herself besides marrying me and having babies. She was smart. She could've gone to university, had a job, but I think she was afraid to tell me. Her father was so strict with her, I think she thought she had to have permission to have so much as a thought of her own.

I shift a little in his arms. "So that's it."

"What's it?"

"I always figured there must be some common thing between me and her that you were attracted to. Turns out, it's issues with our fathers."

"It is not." I can hear him suppress a chuckle.

"No, I mean, Danijela, me, Sam – did any of your other girlfriends have daddy issues? That French nurse?"

"Gillian? I forgot to ask. And you're not my girlfriend. You're my wife. There's a difference."

"Yeah, a ring I could really do some damage with in a fistfight."

He closes his hand over mine, over the ring. "Some other differences, too. And it was never your insecurities that attracted me to you. It was…other stuff."

"My emotional reclusiveness and intense vulnerability lying just under the cold, hard exoskeleton of an ice queen?"

"Uh…no."

"My catheterization skills?"

"No." He sits up. "Come on, I want to start dinner."

"Can I keep on guessing why you found me so irresistible?"

He glances at me over his shoulder as he heads to the kitchen. "I'd kind of hoped by now you wouldn't have to guess."

I'm quiet a minute, letting his comment settle. And I suppose he has a point – I do hope he knows why I love him, at least the reasons beyond the inexplicable part where I just love him because I do.

And, okay, so I make more than a few self-deprecating jokes about why he loves me, but it's just…what I do. Although maybe he's right, and maybe it bothers him, having to wonder if I get that he loves me. The thing is, though, I'm still not great with that whole trust thing. I've gotten better, a lot better, but it's still like a reflex, doubting him. I've gotten to the point of accepting that he loves me now, but I still have a hard time convincing myself that he'll still feel that way in five years, or ten, or however many.

Because it hasn't worked like that in the past. Everyone I've been with has fallen out of love with me at some point, and it's not like there weren't aggravating factors, but going on experience, it's hard to trust that he won't do the same. And it hasn't just been with relationships – there was a day that Eric just stopped needing me, or wanting my help, and as much as I understand why he didn't want my help dealing with a disease I didn't have, it still stung. Stings.

I think sometimes that if it hadn't been for the circumstances, if I hadn't gotten pregnant and had to confront that question of whether I was willing to take the risk of having a baby and for probably the first time in my life, being forced to choose between not getting hurt and taking that risk, that maybe I'd have done what I was used to, kept Luka at arm's length to keep from getting hurt, and maybe we wouldn't have stayed together. It's nice to think that it was meant to be and we'd have found each other no matter what, and I do think that the potential was always there, but in all truth, I don't know that I'd have had the guts to try if I hadn't been backed into a corner and forced to make a choice.

That whole thing about having a baby changing a person really holds up, in my case.

I follow him to the kitchen and slide my arms around his waist from behind him as he stands at the sink. "Sorry," I tell him quietly.

I feel his hand on my arm. "You don't have to be sorry."

"I am anyway. I know I don't always make it…easy."

He turns, and I move my arms to rest on his shoulders. "Easier than you think, maybe. It's a hell of a lot harder not to love you."

"You have a lot of experience with that?"

He shrugs. "Some."

I chew on my lip for a minute, trying to convince myself he's only joking around, trying not to let my insecurities run rampant. It doesn't work. "When?" I don't manage to make it sound as light as I'd hoped.

It seems to register what I'm asking, and he runs his hands along my arms, down and over my shoulders, down my waist, before letting them settle on my hips. "Not then." He sighs a little. "I wasn't…I didn't want to…then. That was…I got scared. I thought, I don't know, that confronting it would be too much for us. That it was better to let it sit. It was stupid to try to run away and hope that would make things better."

"I decide when you're stupid, not you." I play with the hair at the base of his head.

"Is that right?"

"Mmhmm."

He leans against the counter. "And?"

"Okay…so maybe it was a little stupid. But I think you were probably entitled given everything."

"I didn't want to stop loving you, Abby." He leans down and kisses my forehead softly, and leans his head against mine. "I knew better than to think I could."

Saturday is Valentine's Day. I put up the pretense of resisting, but to be honest, I know Luka is looking forward to it, and I've gotten to a point where I sort of enjoy his occasional lapses into cheesy romance. Not because I like the holiday or because I like being spoiled, but because I know it makes him happy and that's kind of what counts.

Besides, we didn't get to celebrate last year. And I know I would've preferred something cheesy and embarrassing to spending it alone, knowing I'd broken his heart and scared that it was beyond repair. I'm pretty happy to have been wrong about that.

I wake up on Saturday morning with his arm draped over my waist and his warm breath on my shoulder, and I can't stop from smiling as I roll over to face him. "Morning," I whisper.

"Morning." He kisses me gently. "I didn't mean to wake you."

I raise my eyebrows. "I hope that's not true. Otherwise, the whole heavy breathing thing is kind of creepy."

He bites his lip and smiles in that incredibly sexy way he has. "Creepy?"

"Well, I mean, it's a little…you know…that's how horror movies start."

"I see." He raises himself up on one elbow to lean over me. "So then, does that mean I'm supposed to take you as my willing victim now?"

I crane my neck to glance at the clock. "Probably not. Joe's going to be up any minute. I don't think we have time to reenact selected scenes from Dracula."

"Maybe he'll sleep in." He dips his head to kiss me again.

I reluctantly pull his hand out from where it was inching up my shirt. "I don't want to start something we can't finish."

He just raises his eyebrows a little. "How do you know we won't?"

"Because we're not that lucky."

"No?"

"No." I run my fingers through his hair. "Sorry, sailor."

"That's okay." He moves his mouth next to my ear. "You can make it up to me later."

"I can make it up to you?"

"Mmhmm. When you've finished thanking me for dinner, I mean."

I give him a look. "Maybe I'll just pay for my half and you can make it up to yourself. On the couch."

His hand slides back under my shirt. I don't stop him, this time. "Maybe I'll give you something to thank me for now."

"Luka…"

I feel his fingers on my ribcage and his breath on my stomach. "The more you argue, the less time we have."

We seem to have switched genres all of a sudden, because this is definitely not out of a horror movie. And I'm losing the will to protest. Not that I really had it to begin with.

I feel his fingers graze my thigh and everything's starting to go a little fuzzy when, predictably, I hear Joe calling from down the hall.

I hear Luka swear softly from somewhere under the covers and I eye him as he reemerges, looking remorseful. "I really thought –"

"I'm going to kill you. You know that?"

"Sorry." He pulls on a shirt and fishes my pajama pants out from under the sheets and hands them to me. "If you wait ten minutes I can slip him something and we can finish – "

"Oh, shut up." I grab a pillow and hurl it at him. He just dodges it and grins. "I'll get him."

"Coffee?"

"What do you think?"

"I think…I'll go make coffee."

We have reservations at eight, so I head upstairs at seven to shower and change. I'm washing my hair, contemplating whether to wear pants or a skirt with boots – just to torture Luka a little after this morning's letdown – and I guess I must be pretty distracted, because the next thing I know, I'm sort of sprawled in the tub and my head really fucking hurts.

"Damn it." I touch my head. No blood. Just shampoo. I guess I'm lucky to have missed the faucet.

I haven't even gotten up before Luka comes running in. "What happened?"

"Gravity." I wince and reach out a hand. "I'm fine, just help me up."

"Don't move." He shuts off the water and kneels down beside the tub.

"Luka, I'm fine."

"You hit your head. I could hear it from downstairs."

"You probably heard the bottle of shaving cream I took out on my way down." I start to get up.

He stops me. "I heard both. Stay there."

"Luka – "

"Don't argue." He stands up and retrieves a pen light from the medicine cabinet.

"Could you at least hand me a towel?"

He retrieves my towel from the back of the door and lays it over me before shining the pen light in my eyes. "Do you know if you slipped?"

"I didn't faint, if that's what you're asking."

"How do you know? Hold still."

"I can't hold still and answer you at the same time."

"Then just hold still." He puts away the light and holds up his hand. "Follow my finger."

"I'll follow you anywhere."

He sighs. "Please just – "

"I'm following your finger, all right?"

He finishes his little evaluation and leans down to slip an arm around me. "You can get up. Slowly."

"I did pass my boards, thank you." I mean, sure, it took a couple of tries, but still.

"Then you should know I'm just doing my job."

"You mean as husband of the year?"

"As a doctor." He keeps his arm around me. "Here, lie down on the bed."

"You just – "

"Abby." His tone doesn't imply that he's going to back down on this.

"Fine. At least let me rinse the shampoo out of my hair and put on my robe, okay? Then you can administer an at-home MRI if you want."

He hesitates. "Sit down on the mat, I'll rinse your hair."

I open my mouth to tell him he's being ridiculous, and decide it's not worth it. I let him help me sit and he folds up another towel and lays it behind my head. "I feel like I'm getting my hair done."

"All part of the service here at Luka's Emergency Room and Hair Salon," he mumbles.

"Where's Joe?"

"He's downstairs."

"I know, I mean, he's probably redecorating the kitchen at this point. I can wait if you need to go downstairs."

"We were watching a basketball game. He probably hasn't moved."

"Great."

He holds his hand over my forehead and uses the sprayer to rinse my hair. "There's no story for him to follow. It's stimulating."

"You're so full of crap." I feel him run his fingers over my temple and behind my ear. "Not a bad hairdresser, though."

He shuts the water off. "Thanks. Here, hold onto me."

"I can walk just fine." I squeeze the water out of my hair.

"Hold onto me anyway."

I sigh, but I don't say anything as he practically carries me to the bed and props pillows behind me before helping me into my robe. "Thank you."

"You're welcome. Do you remember falling?"

"I don't know. I was sort of focused on the part where I smacked my head."

"Abby." His voice reminds me of when he's warning Joe not to do something. He places his fingers on my carotid.

"No, I don't remember. I was standing up and the next thing I knew I wasn't."

"But you didn't faint."

"I was feeling perfectly fine prior to landing on my ass. No double vision, no palpitations, no dizziness – "

"Did you stand up suddenly?"

"I wasn't orthostatic. I was washing my hair."

"Were you leaning your head back?"

"No."

"You're sure?"

"Yes, doctor, I'm sure." I purse my lips. "The water wasn't excessively hot, I wasn't pressing on my carotid artery, I'm not anxious, and I think it would be a pretty big impediment to being a doctor if I went vasovagal at the sight of blood."

"When's the last time you ate?"

"Lunch. Around one. I ate Joe's leftover grapes and one of his peanut butter crackers, and then I had some yogurt."

"How much – "

"About four hundred calories."

"There aren't that many calories in yogurt."

I roll my eyes. Bad plan. My head still hurts. "I put some M&Ms in it. There. You've caught me."

"Can you please just…you know I'm just asking what I'd ask a patient."

"Yes, but I can evaluate myself, and there's no reason to think it was a syncopal episode. I slipped. And just because I don't remember the way down doesn't mean I have a concussion."

"It doesn't mean you don't, either, and if you do, you can't evaluate yourself accurately." He runs his fingers over my arm. "You'd tell me the same thing if the situation was reversed."

"You have farther to fall. And I can feel your fingers on my arm, so my sensory system is fine."

"Close your eyes, please." I comply, and I feel his finger on my cheek. "How about – "

"Yes."

"And now?" He runs his finger over my other cheek.

"Yes."

"Now?"

"If your hand gets any higher on my leg, I'm going to have to report you for harassing a patient." I have to work at not smiling.

"Yes ma'am. You can open your eyes. How old are you?"

"Thirty-nine and two halves."

"Funny. What time is it?"

"Between seven and time for you to take me to dinner." I eye him. "At eight. And to answer your other questions, it's 2009, we're at home, I recognize you, and I'm sure if Joe were here, I'd recognize him too. My birthday is January tenth, World War I started in 1914, the president is – "

"Okay, I get it."

"Want me to do serial sevens, too?"

"That's okay, thank you." He shakes his head. "Stand up, please."

"Are you using BESS or Romberg?"

"I'll let you pick."

"I can't stand on one foot, anyway." I stand in front of him, hold my hands at my sides, and close my eyes. About a half a second later, I can feel my robe begin to slip. "Oh, come on."

"I didn't do anything. Don't move your arms."

I can feel the front of my robe open now. "You totally suck."

"No talking during the test." I can practically hear the smile on his face.

"You better not pull this with your other patients."

"My other patients don't wear sexy robes that slip open on their own." I feel his hand brush against my stomach. "You're cleared. For now."

I redo the tie on my robe. "You're going to give me a follow up?"

"In an hour."

"That'll be sort of awkward in the restaurant." I walk to the dresser and begin pulling out clothes.

"We'll go out tomorrow." I feel him lay his hand on the small of my back. "I'm going to call the sitter and cancel."

"Luka – "

"Abby." He looks at me seriously. "I'm not messing around. Or trying to annoy you. I'm just – "

"I know." I hold up my hands. "I get it. Okay? You're doing your job."

"Lie down and I'll bring you an ice pack and a Chinese menu."

I look up at him. In all honesty, my head does still hurt like hell. And as much as I hate being treated like a patient, I know he's right, that I'd do the same thing if it was him who hit his head. "Why don't you and Joe watch your game up here?"

"We can watch something else."

"I was kind of hoping to see some other people fall down and hit their heads so I feel better about myself."

He leans down and I tilt my head back to kiss him, and stop. "Okay, that actually does hurt."

"Sorry." He crouches so that his head is level with mine. "Better?"

"I hope that wasn't your way of making me realize I need to lie down."

"I'd never do something that sneaky." He kisses me. "I hope this wasn't your way of getting out of going to dinner."

"If I wanted to get out of dinner that badly, I'd have just hit you on the head."

"I see. Go lie down."

"Go get me my ice and my menu. And Joe, if you can peel him away from the television."

"Anything else?"

"Glass of iced tea?"

He nods. "Sure."

"Thank you, Dr. Kovač."

We end up watching some documentary about jungle animals, which has enough monkeys and leopards to hold Joe's attention and few enough snakes that I don't mind. Once he's fallen asleep, Luka takes Joe to bed, and I reclaim the pillow that was mine before a certain someone decided that sharing was too much of a hassle.

I wince as I move my head onto the pillow. Still sore. No nausea, though, and as far as I know, I'm not confused, so at least I seem to have avoided a concussion. Not that Luka won't reevaluate me before I fall asleep. And when I wake up.

As much as it drives me nuts when he overreacts, I do have to admit that there's something sweet about it. About having someone who cares about me enough to be just a little irrational. I'd rather have that than not.

I can't help thinking about seven years ago, and the reaction he had when Brian hit me, and I think maybe I'd needed the reassurance during our relationship that I meant enough to him that he'd get protective or jealous or whatever else. It wasn't until we'd broken up that he started to act that way – not that he hadn't done things to show me he cared about me before, but I guess maybe it was the involuntary stuff, the stuff that showed he couldn't stop caring about me, that made me realize I meant something to him beyond a warm body at night. And I don't think it was that he didn't care about me when we were together, but I guess maybe it was too hard for him to let himself feel like that then. I think maybe when it was coming from a place of regret or of pain that it was more comfortable, more natural for him.

And I think maybe it was easier for me to accept that, the fact that he did care about me and was willing to be there for me when I needed him, even with the things we'd said to each other, once we weren't together. I think that was when I actually let my guard down, and was able to realize that I didn't actually have to hide from him. That I could trust him.

He comes back from putting Joe to bed and just looks at me for a minute, this little smile playing on his face. I don't even realize I'm looking back at him with the same sort of smile until he shrugs his shoulders a little. "What?"

"Nothing. Just thinking." I bite my lip.

He lays down beside me. "I have a penny if you want to share."

I smile again. "I was sort of…I guess I was thinking that I never thanked you for, you know…taking care of me. Not just tonight. I mean…before. When you let me stay on your couch. I never thanked you, you know…properly."

His hand brushes over mine. "You did."

"No, I mean, not just – I mean I never thanked you for…you were really good to me. Not just letting me stay there, I mean how…you said how you wanted to kiss me, that night we were talking, and I guess I mean, thank you for just being a friend to me then. Even though I probably wouldn't have minded if you'd kissed me. But you didn't, and you know, I didn't really have anybody else to go to, and even though we weren't together, you…you know."

"You don't have to thank me for being your friend, Abby."

"Well, I want to anyway."

He rolls onto his side. "Okay, then thank you for being mine, too. Even when I was a jerk."

"You're welcome."

"Thanks for being other things, too."

"Other things?"

"You know. Not…just friends."

"Oh, that." I flash on that night, in the ambulance bay at County, both of us kind of fumbling around for a way to move forward after the night we'd spent together, and how, even with all the chaos and the sadness of the crash, throughout the whole thing I'd felt this sort of buzz of excitement and anticipation. And how every time I'd looked at Luka through that whole night, it was like a surge of adrenaline.

And how I'd done what I always did, taken the coward's way instead of telling him how I really felt, because he might not have felt the same way and I didn't want to risk getting hurt. Although looking back, I don't know how the hell I thought that was possible after what had happened the night before, and the way he'd kissed me and held me and that I knew damn well what he'd whispered after we made love the first time and what it meant in English.

"I do kind of like it better, being more than friends." I curl my fingers around his.

"It does make things less complicated."

I glance at him. "How do you figure?"

"Hard to be friends with somebody you're in love with."

It sort of clicks, what he was talking about yesterday. About trying not to love me. He's never come out and said it, but in retrospect, I don't think he has to.

"Come here." I turn my head a little, not so much that it hurts, but enough to see him. He shifts closer to me, and just kind of lets his lips graze mine, no pressure, literally or figuratively. I slide one hand over his jaw, letting the stubble tickle my palm, and pull him in a little.

He draws back after a minute, though not much. "What was that for?"

"Seven years ago." I shrug a little. "You didn't kiss me then. So I thought…it was time to go ahead and fix that."