“Do you love him?” The question slides over me like molasses. Do I love him? The man who brings me food. The man who cares for and provides for his family. The man who can make me laugh and swoon and melt all in one night. Do I love the man who makes me feel desired? The man who makes me feel loved, even if I don’t dare ask him for the words. Do I love Luther? I lift my shoulder again.
