“Feels like a thousand things are flapping in my fucking stomach.” Oscar pops another Cheeto in his mouth. “We call those butterflies, Redford.” “No shit.” I widen my eyes. “Make them stop.” “Can’t.” Donnelly checks his phone. “You’re about to get married.” “They’re not optional,” Oscar says. Thatcher’s quiet. A stern, serious look on his face. Honestly, I feel like if I asked him, he’d murder the butterflies for me.
love that 🥲
