And now she lay beside Owen waiting for his answer, trembling and tense and almost strangling on the terror that rose inexorably in her throat. For a fleeting moment, she thought she saw something trapped in his expression as he reacted to her impulsive question, but she didn’t even have time to consider or verify whether that was what she saw because the expression disappeared as soon as she registered it. It was replaced by a look of blank surprise. “It’s a normal endearment, isn’t it?” he asked, eyeing her with casual curiosity. “Would you prefer honey or sweetie or pumpkin pie?” And—as simple as that—the danger was deflected. Amy wasn’t sure if she was more relieved or crushed by how easily, how indifferently, Owen had avoided saying anything meaningful. She couldn’t help but be a little disappointed, even as she was relieved that she hadn’t ruined everything. She gave a chuckle that was just a little forced. “Pumpkin pie?” she repeated, making her voice sound amused although a heavy weight had settled in her gut.
