And because I’m in love with her, I have to let her go. So I don’t lean in and kiss her. I don’t throw her over my shoulder and carry her out of the water and lay her down in the back seat of the truck. I don’t tell her how I feel. I don’t do any of that. Instead, I paste on a smile and pry my hands off her waist. “C’mon, Sunshine,” I say. “It’s getting dark. Let’s get you home.”
Gimme the gun
