“This must be that ‘can’t-eat, can’t-sleep, reach-for-the-stars, over-the-fence, World Series kind of stuff.’” She quotes It Takes Two often. “No,” I deadpan. “Just no?” “Fuck no.” Her lips pull upward. “Then what is this?” “It’s so much more than that.” She gasps. “It’s chocolate.” I drop her down my back and grab her ankle, stopping Dais before her head meets the floor. She’s safe and out of breath. When I pick her back up, when she’s upright in my arms, I fucking tell her, “It’s us at one-hundred-and-fifty miles per hour without brakes.” Daisy says as softly but more tearfully, “I really
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