“What color is my voice?” Cromwell stared at me, eyes full of some kind of light I couldn’t decipher. That small, beautiful smile pulled on his lips again, and he said, “Violet blue.” I tried to breathe. I really did. I tried to move. Violet blue. Cromwell got in his truck and pulled away. A memory from last week came to my mind. “Cromwell?” I asked, and he turned my way. “What’s your favorite? Your favorite color to see?” “Violet blue,” he said in an instant. Violet blue. His favorite color to see . . . and also the sound of my voice. If my failing heart hadn’t let him in before, it did just
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