“Ask me how many times I’ve thought about you since that protest.” My voice scratches gruffly against the cool silk of the quiet night. She stares up at me, and at first I think she’ll wave off my question, pretend this is normal, what’s happening between us. But she doesn’t do that. She doesn’t pretend or wave it off. She meets it head-on and answers with unflinching honesty. “Maybe as many times as I’ve thought of you.”
