When I first met Brendan Blake, he swept in like a gust of wind—a perfect storm rescuing all of my senses.

The second time I spied him, the grump basically declared, “Up yours,” on a photo shoot.

The third time, he regretted what he’d said the day before, and I once again was provoked by his hazel eyes, wicked smile, and devil-may-care attitude. Then again, his ripped body being photographed by my best friend didn’t hurt either.

Brendan wrote down his private line on a pastry box. I sent him a memento of our first date—a blueberry pie—almost as soon as it was over.

He hooked me. It helped his idea of a perfect second date involved taking me to a baseball game.

I let him in—all the way in, took him deep into my heart. I didn’t have any choice.

Despite the one hard and fast rule I laid out—never lie to me—I lied to myself. I told Brendan my heart wouldn’t crumble if he didn’t love me. Would I have let myself fall if I knew the secrets he was keeping? I’ll never know.

I do know you love someone until you can’t. That’s when you set them free.