This was the first time since we’d met that he’d spoken directly to me. I’d waited for this moment. Ached for it. Ached to hear that voice—sweet as honey, low and melodic. Ached for the words to be mine, and mine alone. Ached to soak up his lilting accent, to memorize every dip and cadence. And now that I’d had a taste, I wasn’t ready to let him go. Even though I had to. Patience, I reminded myself.
