“I love him.” I exhale quietly, hands folded in my lap. “I think I loved him when I was seventeen and he danced me around your mom’s living room. I think I loved him even on his wedding day because the relief I felt—” I break off with an uneasy laugh, but at Effie’s patient expression, I let myself continue even as my cheeks burn with embarrassment. “We laid in that bed and all night I thought one thing: maybe now. Maybe now he would look at me as something more than his little sister’s friend. Maybe now he would hold my hand instead of letting our fingers kiss, and nothing more. Maybe now . .
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I loved this part so much I probably reread it at least 10 times.
