“Yesterday you asked about the forehead kisses. What they meant. And I lied to you.” His eyes tick up, meeting mine. “Ask me again.” I’m not breathing. “What do they mean?” He gives me a little smile. “They mean I constantly crave the way you feel. They mean I can barely muster a thought about anything but you. They mean I wake up in cold sweats most nights, thinking about how much it would scare me to have you, and how bad it would hurt to lose you.”
