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The fire pops.
Rain rattles the windows.
He lowers his mug.
“Don’t.”
I frown.
“Don’t what?”
“Say shit like that.”
“Why?”
His jaw tightens.
“Because I might believe you.”
I set my mug down.
“You should.”
He looks away.
I shift closer.
“Grayson.”
“Autumn.”
“Look at me.”
He does.
And the expression on his face nearly undoes me.
Anger. Want. Something darker beneath both.
“You don’t know what you’re asking for,” he says.
“I’m not asking for anything.”
“Good.”
“I’m telling you how I feel.”
“That’s worse.”
I reach for his hand.
He lets me take it.
“Why is it so hard for you to believe someone could still love you?”
His gaze drops to our joined hands.
“Because I’m not the man you remember.”
