“Jamie,” I whisper, staring at the box. My throat feels tight. His finger brushes the back of my hand playfully. “Open it.” I press my lips into a flat line, wavering, before I flip the lid off. Yep. There it is, but instead of in the front window of the guitar store, it’s sitting on the table. It’s so beautiful, but it’s more than that. This guitar is something I thought I couldn’t have, and yet, here it is. My eyes well up with emotion and I blink fast to clear them. “It’s too much.” I can’t look at him. If I look at him, I’ll cry. Or kiss him. I’m not sure. “It’s not too much.” “It’s too
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