“You’re actually jealous.” “Of course, I am. At least I can acknowledge that.” And he was jealous. I could feel it, an ashy coating in the back of my throat. “You are…” “Devilishly handsome? Wickedly clever?” He turned back to the western sky, where it still carried the haze of fire. “Stunningly charismatic?” “That wasn’t what I was going for,” I told him. “More like ridiculous.” “Endearingly ridiculous,” he corrected.
