When he reads the last note, You are perfect for what you are, he turns to me with tears in his eyes. “Never forget these things,” I say. “Please. You are dream fuel to me.” I watch and wait. I’m somewhat nervous about his reaction – what if it was too much? What if he doesn’t want hearts and flowers and harps from me? What if he just wants something more low-key? “Thank you for being here through my pain,” he finally says, and I just sigh. “Oh, Ty.” “Seriously. And you forgot to add one Post-It.” “What’s that?” “You are hopelessly in love with Henry Morgan.” “Ty, you are?” He wipes his eye
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