I breathe out so hard the room spins. “Oh, my God. You really do have a crush on me.” His eyes narrow. “What?” “Gabriel Visconti,” I announce, loud enough for the entire restaurant to hear. “You have a crush on me.” He barks out a laugh laced with unease. “You’re out of your fucking mind.” But it’s too late; the realization has seeded in my bones and is growing roots.
