“During an argument that we had,” he tells me, pitch low, “you called me beautiful. And an insufferable ass. But beautiful. I haven’t gotten over it.” His stare is unwavering in the golden light, cutthroat and holy, compassionate yet demanding. Even though he is tall and straight as a statue, there is still movement in him somehow. An undercurrent of unease he’s fighting off with every shred of will he possesses. “I should have told you. I wanted to.” His eyes are molten, transparent with feeling. “I think you are beautiful, too, Maybell. I think that you walked into my life and absolutely
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