“You once told me love was just a chemical reaction,” Easton said, his voice low and steady. “That it faded or burned out or exploded. That it wouldn’t last.” My throat went tight. My heart was beating far too fast. Because I remembered saying that. I remembered believing it. “And maybe back then,” he continued, “you were too young to believe in forever. Maybe you needed to protect your heart more than I needed to convince you otherwise. So I let you believe it.” His hand reached out, slow and reverent, and his fingers brushed the silver chain at my neck—the tiny constellation pendant now
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