“Yes. I did…I do. I think what she did—what Brona is doing—is unfair to you. And if I can help, then I want to help. If I can make her lies go away….” I glanced over his shoulder, frustrated by my lack of ability to communicate. My tongue felt heavy in my mouth, and I gathered a deep breath, tried to ease some of my frustration, and closed my eyes as I continued, “I saw how that hurt you. I don’t want you to be hurt—I’m not making sense.”

He was quiet for several seconds, and I felt my face flush. I’d said too much, admitted too much, and my words were clumsy. This was precisely why I should only interact with the world via infographics.

“You’re making some sense,” he said, his gentle tone catching me off guard.

I opened my eyes and peeked at him. His gaze had softened, and I saw that he was studying me. I met his probing stare, relieved that the bitterness had been replaced by speculative warmth.

At length he shifted a step forward, entering my space. I lifted my chin to maintain eye contact and successfully fought the urge to back away.

Once he was basically crowding me, Ronan whispered, “Why do you care if I’m hurt?”

“Because….” I began, stopped, closed my eyes again, and gathered a deep breath.

“Look at me, Annie.”

I didn’t. Instead, I bit my lip and shook my head.

I felt one of his hands cup my cheek; his thumb pulled the flesh from my teeth then swept over my bottom lip.

“Look at me.” This time it sounded a bit more like a command.

I opened my eyes. I looked at him. I told him the truth. “I lied to you.”

I saw a flash of something behind his gaze, and he appeared to be holding his breath. “I don’t like liars.”

“I know, I know, I’m sorry.”

“What did you lie about?”

“I want permanence,” I said stupidly. “I want guarantees and stability.”

“What? What does—”

I interrupted him, my words tumbling from my mouth. “I like you. And more than just in the biblical sense. I like you. I like that you’re Mother Fitzpatrick with your team, but you flirt dirty with me. I like how you take care of your family and how h-h-honorable you are. And I want….” I tried to shift my gaze from his, but he wouldn’t let me. Ronan lifted his other hand so that he held my face between his palms, forcing me to maintain eye contact.

“What do you want?”

“When I first saw you, do you know what I thought? I thought you looked sad. And even though I didn’t know you, I wanted to do something to make that go away.”

His gaze narrowed. “You mean in the break room? You thought I was sad?”

My eyes widened as I realized my mistake. As far as Ronan knew, the first time I’d laid eyes on him was at the office in the break room. “Y-yes, I mean, no—of course, I mean that—listen, it doesn’t matter. What matters is that I saw you, I saw sadness. I wanted to help.”

“But you don’t want me?”

My frustration doubled. I gripped his wrists, steadying myself. I stared at his neck, irritated that I was so bad at this, and blurted on an exhalation, “I do want you, for some crazy reason I want to trust you; but I am so afraid.” The last part of my sentence came out as a whisper.

He seemed to release the breath he was holding, and with it, I felt his relief like a tangible thing. The weight I hadn’t precisely realized he’d been shouldering fell away. Ronan pressed a quick kiss to my forehead before saying, “Don’t be. You don’t need to be afraid of me.”

“I can’t not be. You don’t know. You don’t know what I’m like.”

“I know you’re gorgeous.”

My eyes cut to his, and I frowned, fear making my throat tight. “See, that’s it. That right there. That’s the problem.”

“What? It’s a problem that I think you’re beautiful?” He was truly perplexed.

“You’ll change your mind. You’ll find someone else.”

Ronan stared at me like I’d grown wings and horns and eight legs. “What are you talking about?”

“I’ve worked really hard for stability, for security. Things are good now. I’m safe.”

His thumbs caressed my cheeks and jaw, his eyes growing fiery and fierce. “You don’t think you’re safe with me? You think I’d hurt you?”

I sighed, knew my eyebrows were moving in all sorts of directions on my forehead as I struggled for the right words. In the end, I didn’t make a conscious decision to tell him about it; I was speaking, and before I knew it, I was halfway through the story.

“Let me explain it this way—and I’m not using my background to gain sympathy. I don’t want sympathy. Let me just tell you what happened. It will…it will make more sense, I think.”

Ronan nodded his encouragement.

“When I was six, my mother left me. I told you this. But what I didn’t tell you was that when I was seven, I was adopted by a family. They thought I was so cute. And, um…they liked how quiet I was, how sweet. It took me a while to come around, like, four months before I started to open up and be myself.” I lowered my gaze to his neck, not wanting to see his expression when I told him the rest.

“Then she got pregnant, and they didn’t want—they didn’t want me anymore. So they gave me back to the state. And then my caseworker put me back in those adoption picnics again, where potential parents come to pick out kids, because I was still considered a good candidate. But I wouldn’t talk to anybody, and I wouldn’t look at anybody because, even at seven, I would rather be alone than be left again.” I exhaled, closing my eyes briefly then returning them to his face.