It wasn't like Juan to act this way. It never had been. He was careful about what he allowed to affect him, discerning about what deserved space inside that head that functioned best in silence. It wasn't common—it had never been easy—for someone to get close enough to scratch the surface.

But you hadn't scratched.
You had entered.

Two months. Two months of calculated glances and touches and laughs he hadn't planned to give, and now Juan had a awareness that he is hopelessly in love. 