Page 73 of Mistletoe

He laughed.

“I was so scared, Hal,” she said, setting the bottle down.

“Of me.” His expression grew remorseful.

She cupped the side of his face. “Only for a moment. I was surprised and panicked. I’m sorry I bolted.”

“Flight response is primal,” he said. “It is how you survive. Do not apologize for survival instincts. My behavior was extreme.”

“It was,” she agreed. “You didn’t seem like yourself.”

“I was exactly myself, simply more focused. That creature was going to hurt you. I had to stop it.”

She considered his words. Exactly himself, only more focused. “Is it because we’re not long past the spring equinox? I’ve read that it can?—”

He shook his head, effectively silencing her. “I think it was becauseyouwere threatened.”

She felt herself blush. Such a ridiculous thing to get fluttery about. “I do need to apologize for how I treated you.”

“It is not a concern.”

“No, it is,” she said. “I did you wrong by treating you like a dirty secret. You deserve better than that. You deserve better from me.”

His eyes were large and practically liquid in the lamplight. He was about to say something sentimental and touching, and Emma would lose control of that building pressure inside her. She’d crumble to the floor in a wailing heap. The emotions were too large for one heart.

Emma cleared her throat. “We’re not done yet.”

Work. That was how she got through every difficulty. Work.

She sterilized the needle and thread in alcohol and stitched up his shoulder. It wasn’t fine or delicate work, but it would hold. She then slathered on a thick layer of petroleum jelly and wrapped it with a bandage.

“There. I’ll check tomorrow for infection.” She didn’t know what they’d do if the wound got infected. Calling a doctor to the house was unwise, and going into town was not an option.

Tomorrow’s concern.

She gathered up the supplies strewn across the table. Hal grabbed her hand and pulled her to him.

“I’ve been trying to think of the right words, and I keep coming up empty,” he said.

“Hal—”

“I love you, too.”

She felt radiant with happiness. It was too big. This feeling was too massive for one person to contain. It felt like a miracle.

“I have since you gave me that scratchy old blanket,” he said. “I knew I had it bad when I should have fled town, but I broke into prison to talk to you instead.”

Emma chuckled. “It was the basement of the sheriff’s office.”

“And I know that me being here puts you at risk. I’m too big. Too green. Too different?—”

“You’re perfect,” she said, interrupting.

He smiled softly. “I’m a monster, Emma. You need to know the extent of it before we make any promises. I wasn’t a good person on Earth. I did time in prison.”

His serious tone had her worried. This was not the playful, sarcastic man who won her heart. “Tell me about prison.”

“I did time for theft and assault, a string of petty offenses, but those are the main ones.”

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