“I don’t care that you told them.” I smile and trace the freckles on her shoulder. I spell out the word mine and add a little heart at the end. “I’ve been wanting to shout from the rooftops that you’re my girlfriend for a while now.” “You’re not allergic to that word, are you? Do you understand what it means?” “Says the woman who told me she doesn’t date hockey players. I know what that word means. It means I’m yours and you’re mine. You make me happy, and I hope I make you happy too.” “You make me happy,” she says softly. “You make me happier than anyone else ever has.”
