Better Not Pout (Mistletoe Falls)

by Maren Moore

It’s not that I think love isn’t real, but maybe it’s just not as whimsical as it seems between the pages of a book about a man, written by a woman.

“Any guy would be the luckiest motherfucker on this planet to be able to touch you, and if he says otherwise, he’s a liar.”

“So no, having to touch you, kiss you, hold your hand when we’re in public isn’t going to make me feel uncomfortable. Even if it’s fake.”

“You are perfect. Every inch of you. And if you’ll let me, I want you to give me the chance to prove it to you.”

“Let me prove it to you, beautiful,”

“Make me earn it the way he never did.”

“Thank you,” I say. “For… seeing me. That’s not always something that I’ve had, and it means so much to me that you do, Wells.”

“Don’t thank me, Sugar. It’s a privilege to be the one to touch you—hell, to fucking know you the way that I do.”