“I love you guys.” A bizarre prickling sensation bubbled up in my chest, and I rubbed my thumb across my collarbone, the salty spot where she’d cried on me. Guys, plural. She didn’t know me, so she didn’t mean me, but the phrase stabbed between my fourth and fifth ribs and burrowed deep, took root. My face felt hot. I forced my gaze down, stared at the dress on the floor.
