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“Did I tell you that you look beautiful today?”
“Will Noah Slade ask Maya Alatorre on a date?”
“I’m probably going to marry her one day. I think she’s the one.” I say the words with confidence.
Love. One word I didn’t understand until Maya.
Noah shows an interest in my camera, asking people to take photos of us, claiming he wants memories of our first trip together. He hates every camera except mine.
But most of all, it will make you happy, which in turn makes me happy.”
“Maya?” his voice rasps. “Yup?” “Keep talking. I love hearing your voice.”
The same man who says “I love you” instead of “good morning” every day.
I trace the garter belt. “This is made from the fabric of the Barcelona Grand Prix’s checkered flag. That was the moment I was truly screwed with you because I gave up a win to make you smile.”
