Kellan says, misinterpreting the brief tremor rocking my body. Or maybe he’s just as eager to drop the subject. I nod, suddenly seeing my chance to escape this situation. Our conversation. Him. “I’ll take you to the living room,” he says. “No, Kellan.” Ignoring my half-hearted protest, he lifts me off the chair and carries me inside, only stopping when we reach the couch. Slowly, he sets me down, arranges a few cushions behind my back, and then wraps a blanket around me—the motion is so intimate, it makes me uncomfortable. I don’t like a guy taking care of me because I fear that one moment in the future when I involuntarily let my guard down, and his guard is still up. Like any other human being, rejection doesn’t agree with me. Kellan’s impossibly good looks aren’t the actual danger to my inner equilibrium. It’s all the small things he seems to do and not make a big deal out of. Like riding home with me and making sure I’m not freezing my ass off. Been there.
