“One more push,” he told me, “and you can have them.” I love you. I love you. I love you. I didn’t realize I’d said a damn thing until he said it back. “I love you,” Toby Hawthorne told me. “I have loved you from the moment you dumped a half-dozen lemons on my bed. From before that, even. From the moment I saw you folding paper, from the first sugar castle, from the instant you promised me a merciful death and lied.”
