Better Hate than Never (The Wilmot Sisters, #2)(115)

I offer my hand. “It was nice to see you again . . .”

It takes him a moment before he finally extends his hand and wraps it around mine. I bite my lip, resisting the urge to melt into how good his touch feels.

He doesn’t offer his name. So I don’t offer mine. I suppose, when all’s said and done, that’s for the best. It’s easier to leave someone in the past without a name to knit them to your memory.