There we some many answers to his question, but few that she was willing to admit to. It would be impossible to reveal her reservations without disclosing her poor behavior from long ago—the same behavior he'd dismissed as nothing more slander when it had speculated about in a copy of Witch Weekly. She wasn't perfect.

Thus, she did the more responsible irresponsible thing: she hesitantly stepped forward and raised her hands to caress his cheek. It was a far more intimate touch than fumbled hand-holding they'd shared at the hospital, but it felt weird. The touches she'd shared with Ben Crouch had been fueled by nothing more than physical attraction. It felt foreign and strange and forbidden—sort of like how it had felt touching Jamie's bare chest after he'd been injured, except Mr. Gladstone actually liked her for who she was. There was something about the combination of physical and romantic attraction that sent her heart racing, and she honestly wasn't sure how to cope with it.

"I'd do this," she murmured, tracing a pattern across his cheek and down her jawline. "I always felt so tense in the hospital. So many eyes watching all the time. Always judging..." She trailed off as she begun to count the freckles as her fingers crossed them. A moment later, her gaze rose to meet his. "What would you do?"

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