BabbeAnn

“His hands root me through the floor, the room stilling.
“Sorry. I just needed …”
His eyes search mine, thumbs still sweeping in that gentle rhythm. “A nap?” he teases softly, tentatively. “A fantasy novel? A competitively fast oil change?” The block of ice in my chest cracks.
“How do you do that?”
His brow furrows. “Do what?”
“Say the right thing.”
The corner of his mouth quirks. “No one thinks that.”
“I do.”
His lashes splay across his cheeks as his gaze drops.
“Maybe I just say the right thing for you.”
― Emily Henry, Book Lovers