Page 30 of The KING Review

It’s beautiful here.

I’ve moved around a lot—not really knowing what I wanted to do and where I wanted to stay—and I can’t say that this is a sure thing, because I almost never know that.

But it’s the surest thing I’ve known so far, and I think that’s a good sign.

When Grant pulls up outside my apartment, I open the door to get out, but he cuts the engine, making me pause. I glance at him. “What are you doing?”

He quirks a brow, grabs his keys from the center console, and gets out of the car without a word. When he rounds to my side, he tugs the door all the way open and leans over, popping the release on my seatbelt.

When he straightens, he lingers with his face a little too close to mine.

I could close the distance and kiss him, but I don’t. I don’t want to misread this. I don’t want to be the one to make the first move in case I push him too far. I would never want to do that.

He backs up, but only just far enough for me to step out of the car.

“I’m walking you to the door,” he says, closing the passenger side door behind me.

“You don’t have to do that.”

He scoffs a little sound, mumbling something under his breath.

My mouth quirks. “What was that?”

“Nothing.”

“Tell me.”

He blows out a breath as we approach the outer door, then steps up in front of me and shakes his head. “I was just saying you must have dated some real losers if you’re not used to being walked to the door.”

I chuff a laugh. “I thought you said we can’t date.” I search his face. “Was this a date?”

“No,” he says flatly, but mirth lingers in his gaze.

“I didn’t take you for a game player, Doctor King.”

His eyes darken. “I’m not playing games with you, Miss Hart.”

“No?” I ask, digging through my bag for my keys. “Then why make a comment like that?”

“Because it’s important for you to know that any guy you do date—the bare minimum should be walking you to your door.”

I roll my eyes. “Thanks for the memo.”

Before I can turn toward the door, he grabs my wrist. I freeze, then so does he.

“Hey, look, I—” He swallows, cutting himself off. “Thank you. Really. It feels… kind of awful to say it, but that helped take my mind off things for a little while.”

My brow furrows. “Why would it make you feel awful to say that?”

“Because Sera is my daughter,” he says quickly, releasing my wrist. “I shouldn’t be trying to take my mind off her.”

“Yes, she is your daughter,” I say gently, reaching out to catch his hand. He doesn’t pull away, but I feel his pulse jumping under my fingertip where it brushes his wrist. “But it’s not Sera you’re trying to take your mind off, is it?”

His throat works with a swallow, but he doesn’t speak.

“You’re you,” I say, even as he averts his gaze. “You’re your own person. You do remember that, don’t you?”

His jaw works now, probably trying to hold back all the things he wants to say—most of which I suspect would be arguments.