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... onsidered the question. My fingers curled against my palm. I watched a plane move across the night sky, its lights blinking red.

"I’m starting to," I admitted finally. "Which terrifies me."

"Why?"

"Because believing in you means hoping." I turned to face him. His eyes were darker in the dim light, fixed on me with an intensity that made my breath catch. "And hope is dangerous because it gets you hurt."

"Not if it’s placed in the right person." He met my eyes. "And ...

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