“What do you see, Joe?” “You,” he whispered brokenly. “I see you, Molloy.” “You see love,” I corrected softly, releasing his hand to cup his stubbly cheek. “You see acceptance.” He swallowed deeply, but didn’t reply. “We’re mirrors, Joe,” I told him, taking his hand and placing it on my cheek. “Everything you feel for me is reciprocated. It’s mirroring back at you.” “Molloy.”
