Ethan started toward the door. She knew it was best that he leave: walk away from her for the very last time, all their plots and schemes and sexual tension firmly in the past. Where it all belonged. His hand was on the doorknob when she blurted out, “Ethan—did you write the toast that Jefferson gave tonight?” Ethan’s hand fell to his side, and his eyes flicked back toward hers. “It’s not that big a deal,” he muttered. “It is to me.” “Jeff asked for my help, the same way he asked me to edit his English papers in high school. He was struggling to articulate his feelings for you,” Ethan said
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OH GOD
