“Yes,” she nods, squeezing me. “I’d rather be here with you.” I press our foreheads together. “What if you’re missing out? What if you always regret not chasing your dreams?” “Brant…I love you. I’ll never regret choosing love.” “Your dreams have an expiration date, June. Love doesn’t. I’ll always love you,” I murmur, bringing her closer. Breathing her in. “You know that, right?” She pulls back a little, licking her lips. “What’s wrong?” “I’m afraid you’re making a mistake.” “We’re not a mistake,” she insists. Her nails dig into me, carving little crescents into my arms. “We were written in the
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