He didn’t care if Hazel ditched the bookstore tomorrow and wanted to leave town and become a circus performer. She could shave her head or decide she wanted to take up rock climbing, and he’d be on board. Hazel wasn’t her job or her curls or her cute button-up blouses. She was the tart spark of blueberries on his tongue, she was salt air and rainy days, she was the perfect book. She was kisses and secret smiles. She was everything. He just needed her.
