“Yes,” he said, brushing away a strand of hair caught in her eyelashes. “I’m staying.”
Pain shot into her eyes. “I don’t want you to stay,” she whispered, her voice halfhearted and completely unconvincing.
“Yes, you do. You don’t want to want me to, but you do.”
She repeated that to herself, then frowned at him. “And how would you know that?”
“Your heart’s beating against mine,” he replied. “It’s calling my name.”
She rolled he eyes. “Hearts do not call. I don’t hear anything.”
“It’s not a sound,” he said. “It’s a readout. In your eyes.”
She closed them then and groaned, leaning into his shoulder again. “You’re misinterpreting,” she insisted softly. “It’s just because I’m afraid the boys won’t ever respond to me the way they do to you. They’re guys, after all. Hard to understand.”
He chose not to tell her that entangled in her need for him because of what he could do for the boys, he’d read a need that was for her alone.
He laughed. “We’re not that complicated. We just want to be loved, obeyed and fed deli sandwiches.”
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