Your Fierce Love (The Bennett Family 7)

As I dash from the living room to the kitchen, I feel his gaze following me. When I serve the dishes, his entire expression brightens.

“This is my favorite food.”

I nod proudly. “Called your mom to make sure.”

“You did all this for me?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re amazing.”

We dig in, making easy conversation over dinner. After we eat, he inspects the changes I’ve made.

He approaches the bookshelf with a frown. “You have three sets of the Harry Potter books...why?”

“They mean a lot to me,” I say simply. “Besides, each set has different covers.”

“Different covers,” Blake mumbles to himself, as if that isn’t a good enough a reason to own different editions.

“If you tell me you aren’t a fan of the series, I might seriously reconsider our friendship,” I warn jokingly.

“I saw the movies, but I’m not a big reader.”

“Ugh, stop right there.”

“I liked them. But obviously, there are fans”—he points to himself—“and fans,”—he points to me and winks.

“I think I felt a big connection to Harry because he was an orphan too, and his life with the Dursleys was very shitty.”

Shit! Why did I open the can of worms? I usually avoid any reference to my childhood. People react weirdly when they find out I grew up in group homes. Some pity me, and some simply don’t know what to say. Blake knows, of course, but it’s still not a pleasant dinner topic.

Blake straightens up, training his eyes on me. “Hadn’t thought about it like that. Makes sense. Dreamed of going to Hogwarts and all that?”

I nod enthusiastically.

I discovered the series shortly after arriving at the group home. I devoured it, feeling a deep kinship with the orphan boy. I desperately wished for something or someone who would take me out of that place where I was surrounded by loneliness and bullies. No such luck. Sometimes I wished I’d ended up in foster care as a baby because then I wouldn’t have experienced the warmth and love of a family, wouldn’t have known what I was missing. But then I chastised myself because I cherished those years I had with Mom and Dad.

“Where did you go just now?” Blake asks, and I snap out of my thoughts. He closes the distance to me, leaning against the shelf a mere foot away from me.

“Old memories.”

“Want to share them?” His voice is unusually soft, but I don’t detect any pity. I never can take pity.

“Nah! There’s nothing quite like enjoying the present day.”

“I can help with that. I’m all about enjoying life.”

“That’s right. I don’t think I’ve ever seen anyone eat with quite so much gusto.”

“All your doing. That dinner was delicious. Your arrabbiata sauce is even better than Mom’s, but don’t tell her I said that.”

“Don’t worry. Your secret is safe with me.”

Turning around to face the bookshelf, I rearrange the copies of the Harry Potter series because they’re out of order. I barely register Blake is moving until I feel him right behind me.

“Now I’m considering other ways to help you so you can thank me often. I’m really good at maintenance: changing lightbulbs, the batteries for your battery-operated buddy, that sort of things.”

I freeze in the act of pulling out the sixth volume. Blake brings one hand to my waist, and the contact stirs something deep inside me. Ever so slowly, he skims his hand upward, sliding it along my ribs to my back, then inching up on my spine. It’s all I can do not to lean into his touch. What is he doing to me? And why am I enjoying this so much?