It’s not the first time someone’s become emotional in front of me at an auction or an estate sale—not the first time by far. But Ruby’s struggle tears at something inside of me. It tears at the professional shield that normally lets me look into a weeping old lady’s eyes with nothing but a distant compassion. That’s usually enough for them.

That’s not enough for me, and it won’t be enough for Ruby.

It was awful, riding here in the car without looking at her. Without talking to her, except for the usual pleasantries. Without reaching for her hand. Or her knee. Or her waist, to pull her in. But I had to do it. I had to give her the space for this to be businesslike. It’s possible she’s so into me one minute and so distant the next because I pushed her too hard here on Sunday. So I kept my distance, letting her breathe, even though it meant I was suffocating the entire ride.

But now, even as she holds her head up high and tries to keep smiling, the situation is getting to her.

I can’t let her crumble in front of me like this.

I don’t want to let her fall apart while I stand by, doing nothing, acting like this is a purely professional arrangement and nothing else. It’s not, even if I can’t put into words why I ever thought it was a good idea in the first place. For all I know, it could be the worst idea I’ve ever had.

It’s not a thought that propels me toward her, closing the distance between us with two long strides, not a calculated decision. By the time I’m moving, I’m done thinking. I have no other choice but to respond to the urge to protect her, to keep her safe, even if that means taking the edge off the pain she’s feeling right now. 

I take her into my arms, pressing her against me, even while I brace for her inevitable rejection. She’s going to push me away. She’s going to leave the room, her eyes cold, her back straight. She’s going to snap at me—how dare you, what are you thinking, this isn’t part of the deal.

I know it, and I don’t care. The instant my arms are around her, warmth cascades through my entire body—a bright, peaceful warmth. I’ve done the right thing.

She doesn’t pull away.

She doesn’t do any of those things I was expecting, even as the first shred of doubt enters my mind. I’m not intending to force myself on her—it’s just that seeing her fight to keep the tears off her cheeks and out of my sight woke something in me that’s never been inspired by another display. Not ever.

Her body melts into the embrace, and Ruby drops her hands away from her face. When she leans into me, her cheek pressed against my shirt, it’s all over. I’m a goner.

Shoulders sagging—whether it’s from relief or sorrow I don’t know—she stops holding back the tears. Ruby cries silently, holding her breath between every sob, and I stand in place, holding her no matter how hard her shoulders shake. I feel like a mountain. I feel like the most powerful man on the face of the planet.

I don’t know how much time goes by, standing like this. I’m submerged in the feeling of her body against mine, her delicate curves wrapped in my arms, the scent of her fruity shampoo. But eventually, Ruby straightens up, takes a deep breath, and flicks the last tears away from the corners of her eyes. Her blue eyes, more vivid against the red in her cheeks, meet mine tentatively. 

“Can you—” She clears her throat. “Just excuse me for a minute, would you?”

“Of course.” I give her a smile, and she returns it with a flicker of her own. Then she turns, disappearing back through the second door leading out of the den.

I brush my hands against the front of my shirt where her tears collected, and the sensation of the cloth under my hands—she was that close to me—sends a thrill down my spine. It’s pathetic to think that something so small could affect me in the least, and even though there’s nobody in the room to see I drop my hands. I’m glad that my jacket is back in the car. 

Ruby comes in from the opposite door a few minutes later, her cheeks still pink but the blotchy evidence of her sobs mostly erased. “Well,” she says, lifting her hands. “That was embarrassing.”

“You don’t have to be embarrassed.”

She bites her lip, then lets out a little laugh. “You probably say that to all of the people you manage auctions for.”

I shrug. “Only the ones who have a difficult time.”

She looks at me, eyes huge and blue and deep. “How many of them do you end up...comforting like that?”

I take a shot. I don’t know what she’s fishing for, or if she’s fishing for anything, but something about the tone in her voice has shifted and a new heat throbs in the air between us. “So far? Just you.”

Ruby nods, stepping farther into the room. “Where did we leave off?”

I can’t take my eyes off her. “I hope…” A sharp desperation wells up in my chest. I’m not ready to leave this topic behind. Not yet. “I hope I didn’t cross a line.”

She takes in a deep breath. “That’s the thing…” Her gaze is back on the dollhouse, but after a few agonizingly long heartbeats she looks back at me. My heart leaps against my ribs. “I should have hated it. I should have hated the way I broke down in front of you—and I do. I still hate that part. But I should have hated the fact that you—you of all people, Levi—were the one to feel…feel sorry for me.” Then her voice drops to a whisper. “I should have hated having your arms around me like that. I’ve been telling myself I hated your touch ever since…” She trails off. Ever since Sunday. Ruby doesn’t have to say it out loud. The moment that she’s referring to, with my hands on her face, tilting those lips up toward mine and never allowing myself to kiss her… “I should have hated it.”

It’s all I can do to draw in a breath, but I do it. I force the air into my lungs and take a step toward her. The scent of her skin swirls in the air. She’s close enough to reach out and touch, but I don’t dare do it. I don’t dare do it…yet.

Instead, I ask the question.

“Did you?”

Ruby looks into my eyes, her lips parted, and everything in my entire body hangs on the next words out of her mouth.