"Not really." I cross my arms over my chest and continue to stare at the ground.

"Hollyn, cut the shit," he says sternly, throwing me for a loop. With his index and middle finger, he lifts my chin and forces me to make eye contact. "We're honest with each other, if anything. Tell me what's going on."

Sighing, I sit on the hood of my car and set my purse down next to me. Jace steps up in front of me, his body fitting between my legs, crowding my space. Nervous of his proximity, I take a deep breath before I tell him what I've been feeling.

"We kissed."

"We did. I remember." He smirks at me, which strangely eases the tension in my shoulders.

"It wasn't good."

His eyebrows shoot to his hairline in disbelief. "It wasn't good? I beg to differ, it was fucking great. So good that the only reason I didn't chase after you was because I figured you needed space. Otherwise, I probably would have fucked your mouth with my tongue all night long." His voice is low, seductive, so incredibly sexy that I can feel my spine start to shiver just from his words.

"Um, that's nice," I say awkwardly, causing him to laugh.

"That's nice? Come on, Hollyn, you're killing me here. Give a guy a little ego boost."

I chuckle from the pained look on his face. "I don't mean it like that. The kiss was amazing, but that's what makes me nervous. You're the first man I've kissed since Eric died. No matter how I try to look at it, it feels like cheating."

From my confession, Jace's face softens, he settles in closer, and squats so we are eye level, his hands on my thighs, warming me instantly.

"Hollyn, you're not cheating on Eric. I can understand how that must feel, to kiss another man when your heart is still partially with another, but it's not cheating. It's moving on. It's letting go, it's giving yourself a chance to continue to live."

"But I'm not ready for that." My voice grows tight. And when Jace runs his hands up my thighs and grips my hips, I find it odd that I feel comforted. By him. He should be a stranger to me, yet I feel so connected to him.

"You're never going to be fully ready, Hollyn. You're just going to have to close your eyes and jump. Trust in your strength and the strength in the people around you."

Tears fill my eyes, my heart breaking with the thought of letting go of Eric. How can someone let go when they barely even had them to begin with? How can I let go of the one thing that gave me life? Was it love or was it Eric? I'm mourning the loss of someone I didn't get to fully experience, and yet . . . so is Jace. Realization really hits me hard. We truly are going through the same thing and despite his recent setback, he seems to have a little more strength than me. Can I channel his strength and move forward? He needs me, yet I have so little to give him. In fact, all I've done is to be there to listen. To listen. I have talked ad nauseam about Eric, although admittedly, it has often been to the four walls of my apartment. Would we find it easier to move forward together? Is that what he is suggesting? If I continue this friendship with him, am I being unfaithful to Eric, or is it okay to find a friend in grief? Although it would be a lie to say I only feel friendship toward Jace. What woman would? I have relied on him too, and in some sense, it would be incredibly selfish to deny him whatever strength and peace he finds in me. And I'm not that girl. Can I be more to him? Can I . . .

"Are you jumping in?" I ask him. "If I jump in, will you jump in?"

Backing away, he stands and moves his hand to the back of his neck, contemplating my question. From beneath his propped up arm, he glances at me. "You're jumping in?"

"Only if you do. I can't do it alone."

"You drive a hard bargain." A smirk passes over his handsome features. "It's not going to be easy."

"I don't expect it to, just don't make me do it alone, Jace."

"Will you stop ignoring me?"

"Yes." I smile sheepishly.

"And we're honest with each other from here on out?"

"Yes."

"No hiding, no holding back. Everything is laid out on the table."

"Agreed."

"Good." He comes forward and links my hand with his. Pulling me forward to a stand, his other hand grips my hip, bringing me closer. Guilt still lurks in the back of my head, and my stomach flips with each of Jace's intimate touches. "Since we're being honest, I have to tell you, ever since I first laid eyes on you, I knew we were connected on a deeper level."

"How did you know that?" I ask, slightly breathless.

"Because," the hand that was on my hip cups my cheek and his thumb brushes against my skin, "I saw the same tortured look in your eyes in my reflection."

Leaning forward, Jace brings his lips inches away from mine. I freeze, my breath caught in my throat, my knees feeling weak. Pressing those last few inches, I place my hand on his chest, stopping him before our mouths connect. "I can't."

Lifting his head but still staying close, he says, "You can't, but you want to?"

Oh hell, do I want to. I want to so freaking bad. If I didn't feel so conflicted, I would be wrapping my legs around Jace right now, begging him to take me back to his place. I've never been the girl to sleep with any man who shows interest, but Jace is right. From the moment we met, there has been that connection. Empathy. Plus, he's everything a woman dreams of in a man. Strong, passionate, caring, sweet, and sexy. His short, dirty-blond hair, deep blue eyes, and powerful athletic build lure me toward him, like a piece of metal to a magnet.

Swallowing hard, I nod. "I want to, Jace. I so want to."

He rests his forehead against mine, his eyes closed, soaking in the air around us. "I want to get lost in you, Hollyn. In your touch, in your body, in your spirit. I want to forget with you, but I also want to experience joy again." He sighs and opens his eyes. "But I can wait until you're ready because you're worth the wait."

"You barely know me."

His thumb runs along my jaw and across my lips. "You're right; I barely know you, but what I do know I like. You're stronger than any woman I've ever met. You're loyal, and deep down you want to learn to live again. You want so desperately to flip the page to a new chapter. I see it in your eyes. Your ambition is sexy, your courage intoxicating, and fuck, your heart . . . it's so damn beautiful." Lifting his chin, he rests his lips on my forehead and presses down a kiss. "I can wait, Hollyn. I want to wait."

Those words.

They're all the confirmation I need.

So I jump.

DAISY.

"Did you know you're not supposed to hang your sweaters, but you're supposed to fold them instead?" I ask Amanda, who is lying on my bed, feet up in the air, and her elbows propping up her head.

"Where did you hear that from? I hang mine and they seem fine."

"Tsk, tsk." I jokingly shake my finger. "Stacy London, fashionista extraordinaire, specifically said by hanging your sweaters, you're pulling on the fibers, stretching them out. It's best to fold them and lay them nicely on your shelves or in your drawers."

Cocking her head to the side, Amanda asks, "Since when did you start listening to Stacy London?"

"Cable has been an interesting thing for me." I smile. "I've learned a lot from the happenings on television."

"I'm afraid to ask what else you've learned."

I wave her off. "Oh, nothing too randy. Get your mind out of the gutter." Folding another sweater, I ask, "Did you know there are workout channels on there? People in spandex, on a beach, lifting weights. It's quite fascinating. I join in on occasion with cans of soup."

Propping herself up, Amanda asks, "So while Matt and I are at work, you're here, in our living room, in your quilted vests, lifting cans of soup with spandex-clad people on a beach?"

"Why, yes? Is that odd?"

"Sort of." She laughs.

"Don't worry. I don't wear the quilted vests anymore."

"Oh, good, because that's what the weird part was."

Beep Beep.

Shaking my head at my sister, I check my phone.

Carter: I'm outside your place. Get your ass down here, and wear something warm.

"What?" I ask out loud and quickly go to my window where I part the blinds to look outside. Sure enough, Carter is outside the house, straddling his motorcycle, looking out at the street.

"What's going on?" Amanda asks, following my movements.

"Carter is here. He wants me to go meet him outside."

"On his motorcycle?"

Dropping the blinds, I quickly find my black ankle boots in my closet and put them on over the skinny black jeans I'm wearing, zipping them up rather quickly. Eager to get outside, I throw on my leather jacket, the only color besides black I'm wearing is the white shirt tucked into the front of my jeans.

"It wouldn't be the first time I rode it."

"Daisy," Amanda reprimands in a joking tone, "you need to tell me about these things."

"Well, I'm telling you now." On my way out, I swing my purse over my shoulder and head down the stairs.

"When should I expect you home?"

I'm putting on my gloves when I look up at Amanda who is holding on to the banister of the stairs, a smug look on her face.

"I have no clue."

"Text me?"

"Of course. See you, sis."

Excitement fills me as I open the door to find Carter staring down at his phone until he hears me approaching. His eyes turn dark as he eats me up with those chocolate pools. The way he looks at me . . . what it does to me . . . it's like one look unleashes a thousand butterflies in my stomach.

Never breaking his gaze, he puts down the kickstand of his motorcycle and throws one leg over the middle, dismounting the bike. His black jeans cling to his legs, riding low on his waist, his grey Henley looks painted across his strong chest, and his black leather jacket only intensifies his dark features, making him sinister, yet sexy.

Eep, yes, he's so freaking sexy.

The total bad boy with the teddy-bear heart. That's him. I'm sure if I told him that, he would scoff and then go and do something bad just to tarnish his image.

Swaggering toward me, his hand caressing his jaw, assessing me, we meet in the middle of the sidewalk outside my sister's house. I wait for him to say something, but instead, he takes a deep breath and once again looks me up and down, the intensity of his perusal so strong I shiver.

"Are you going to be warm in that?"

I nod because right about now, my body feels like it's about to combust from the heat coiling inside.

"You sure?"

"I'm sure," I answer back, just wishing he would stop staring at me so intensely.

"All right." He links our hands together, melting me right on the spot, and pulls me toward the bike. "Ready to learn something new?"

Learn something new? What? My brain feels like mush. Pretty sure if I were a cartoon, my head would be spinning around and I would be constantly spitting out the word, "doye" every two seconds.

"Are you?" Carter asks again, shaking my hand.

I mentally chastise myself and formulate a response. "What?" So clever, I know.

Smirking at me, he tucks a strand of my hair behind my ear and says, "Are you ready to learn something new? You know, our next challenge?"

Our next challenge . . . he smells so good.

Focus, Daisy.

"Oh, yes. I'm ready. What are we doing?"

"You'll see." He reaches behind him into a compartment under the seat of his bike and pulls out a helmet . . . with a daisy sticker on the front. "Here, put this on."

A daisy sticker, right there on the front. A daisy sticker for me. Oh, be still my heart, I might just attack this man when he's not looking.

"It has a daisy on it."

"So?" He shrugs his shoulders, passing it off as nothing.

"Did you put this daisy sticker on it."

Sighing, he looks down at the helmet in my hands and asks, "Are you going to make a big deal about this? Because if so, I'll just peel the damn thing off."

"No." I move the helmet away from him so he can do no such thing. "You better not take off this daisy."

"Then just put the damn thing on and stop making a big deal."

Heaven forbid he lets me indulge in his soft side.

I do as I'm told and snap the helmet in place, making sure the chinstrap is tight enough. No point in wearing a helmet if you're not going to wear it properly. When I'm all set, Carter checks the helmet, making sure I have it properly in place, making me sink a little further into being crazy for the man.

He turns to get on the bike but I stop him. "Hey."

He looks over his shoulder, giving me another once-over. "Yeah?"

Being as brave as I can be, I circle him so we're facing each other and slip my arms in his jacket and around his waist. Holding on tightly, I give him a hug, resting my helmeted head against his chest. Frozen, he doesn't reciprocate the hug, but after a few seconds, he gingerly puts his arms around me and hugs me back, almost as if affection is a new thing to him.

"Thank you, Carter. The helmet is perfect."

Pulling away, he puts his helmet on as well and says, "Yeah, it will be perfect when I make my friend Fitzy wear it one day."