He felt like a stalker, watching Maggie like this. He wasn’t creepy, really. It’s just halfway en route to her pinic table he’d chickened out and hid behind a tree.

Tom Forrester had it bad. Really bad.

He slid down the tree, his backside landing with a thump on the packed dirt beneath him. He tried not to think of how beautiful she was. He tried not to think of how her plastic smiles made him want to kiss her pain away. He tried not to think of her lips at all…

Tom risked a glance around the trunk of his tree. She had that distant, sad look on her face. Absently, she pushed one of her perfect, chocolate curls from her face. Tom was dying. Oh, if he could run his fingers that halo of silky curls!

He squeezed his almost abnormally large gray eyes shut, trying to block the images of him and Maggie together from his mind. He was unsuccessful. She was just so…beautiful.

Oh, if only she knew…