3
I hadn’t heard Bran’s approach, hadn’t even noticed his car arrive. We were on the far side of the house, with its generous brick dimensions forming a driveway sound barrier, but it was still another indication of my fuzzy-headedness. Bran was within a few long, confident strides of us when I looked up. I’d always thought Bran looked best when things were at their worst. A touch of uneven fluff where he’d run his hands through his dark-brown hair, a hint of stubble highlighting the ridges of his cheeks and dark circles deepening his hazel eyes … all things that made him look more vulnerable, more real. The way he looked standing before me, things must be really bad. I felt a rush of familiar heat in the places a woman doesn’t mind feeling heat, even in the summer. And then he opened his
