What I have to say is only for her, even if everyone else can hear. I hold her hips, my forehead nearly against hers as I say, “I have you fucking beat, sweetheart.” Confusion and curiosity light her big green eyes. “I knew,” I say slowly to her, “that you were the only girl that I’d ever fall in love with—could ever fall in love with—in Cancún, Mexico, on the boardwalk of a bungee jump.” She begins to sob, shaking her head. I cup her face between my hands. “I knew back then, Daisy Petunia Calloway, because you were the only girl I’d ever met that was as deeply caring and as fucking lonely as
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