“No,” she said when she could speak.

“Is he seeing anyone else?”

“I don’t know. I don’t mind if he is, though.”

“So you’re not into this guy at all.”

“You can’t say that.”

“I can. And if you’re going to date him, there’s no reason you can’t also date me.”

She put down her sandwich, no longer hungry. “We talked about this.”

“I heard what you said. You’re determined to go out with decent, boring men to feel like you’re keeping a promise you made to your mom—”

“This has nothing to do with my mom. This is about me, and managing my feelings, and I won’t be able to do that if I get close to you. Kissing you makes me breathless—”

“Good.”

“Not good. Because it makes me want more than kissing. It makes me want everything.”

“Even better.”

“No! It’s not. Don’t you see? If I keep kissing you, how will I ever go to Grey’s tomorrow night with Paul and watch football and eat wings and pretend I’m having a great time? How will I laugh at his jokes and be appropriately sympathetic when he tells me stories about working for the city and how his boss smells of onions, but it could also be body odor, he doesn’t know, and he’s not sure if he should say something to his boss, or buy him a stick of deodorant—” She broke off, temper blazing. “Because that’s what dates with Paul are like. He’s a caring man who takes his job seriously, and is worried about his supervisor’s hygiene, and doesn’t want to offend him but help him make better decisions.”

Rory’s gaze met hers and he seemed to be trying hard not to laugh. “So this is my rival?”

“He’s not your rival.”

“It might be smart to give him a heads-up that he’s about to lose you.”

“Are you even listening to me?”

“I am. Well, I’m trying to, but I keep getting distracted by your beautiful brown eyes and your lovely lips. I love your lips. They are made for kissing.”

“You’re not taking this seriously.”

“I’m taking this very seriously, so seriously I’m suggesting you never let Paul kiss those lips again.”

“You don’t own me.”

“I don’t want to own you. That’s not my style. But I’m also protective of what is mine—” He broke off as a pair of boys shyly approached their table, a pad of paper and pen in the older boy’s hand.

Sadie swallowed her temper as the younger boy prodded the older boy into speaking, but even then, the older boy, somewhere around nine or ten, was so bashful, he stammered as he asked for an autograph.

Rory immediately focused on putting the boys at ease, making small talk with them for a few minutes, before signing two slips of paper. The boys repeatedly thanked him and then waved before returning to their table, where they showed their father the autograph. The father beamed with pleasure and gratitude, and he gave Rory a small nod, clearly grateful Rory had taken time to be kind. Rory nodded back, and Sadie’s chest squeezed impossibly tight.

This man, this beautiful, wounded man that she’d loved since she was thirteen, was turning her inside out. Being near him was like riding a roller coaster—highs, lows, and endless thrills. One moment she wanted to slug him. The next she wanted to hug him. Did he have any idea how frustrating he was?

Did he know how good he was? How generous he was with others? Did he realize that just by sitting here with him, she was falling for him, again?

It was so dangerous. So impossible. She didn’t want to hurt him and yet she had to protect herself.

“You were good with those boys,” she said tautly, furious with him, and equally furious with herself because her heart felt tender and raw and her body hummed with tension from fighting a dozen different wants and needs.

She could pretend she didn’t care, but she would always have feelings for him. Strong feelings. Dangerous feelings.

“I like kids,” he answered gruffly.

“And yet you don’t want any of your own?”

“I don’t think I’d be a good dad.”

“Why?”

“I’m not...” He shrugged. “Not selfless enough.”

Those words and his indifferent shrug spoke volumes.