“Please make me look amazing. I want him to salivate even if he hates me.” I admitted it quietly, worrying my hands over the fact that I had to sing the love songs I’d written about him in front of him tonight. Some songs were ones I’d literally sung to him years ago in the lilacs, where I’d begged him to do more with me when we were just kids. And he'd always said then, “You want to keep me a secret, you can wait to do more with me until I’m not one, Kee.” The problem was that I never wanted him to be a secret. I just needed him to be. My songs were apologies to him, love notes to him,
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