He’d been staring at the screen for the past forty-five minutes but if asked, he could not tell you a damn thing about this movie. He could tell you that Iris was wearing a tank top and yoga pants and that her hair was piled on top of her head in a messy bun and that she smelled like vanilla and that she’d made happy sighing noises as she ate the dinner he’d made her and that every time she giggled at something in the movie his heart constricted. And that he was absolutely losing his mind being this close to her and not touching her.
