“Take the risk.”
Reid leaned back.
“You said I was steady.”
“You are.”
“You liked that I did not speak merely to fill silence.”
“You speak constantly.”
“Recently.”
“I doubt you underwent a personality transplant because I got hit by a truck.”
“You said I made decisions quickly. You appreciated that until the decisions concerned you.”
“That seems accurate.”
His mouth curved.
“You liked my hands.”
“I still do.”
His eyes darkened by a fraction.
“You liked the way I smelled after work.”
Heat touched my face. “Did I?”
“Cedar. Salt. Engine oil.”
“That combination should not inspire desire.”
“Your judgment was often questionable.”
“What else?”
He hesitated.
The humor left his face.
“You once told me I never made you wonder whether I wanted you.”
The answer struck deeper than the others.
I looked down at our hands.
“That mattered.”
“Yes.”
“Because of Denver.”
“In part.”
I remembered enough of Denver to understand.
