Smith sets me down, my back pressing against the wall, as we suck in lungfuls of breaths, our eyes frantically trying to focus on each other because we’re so close. “Let’s get out of here,” I whisper. “I love you,” he answers. Right there, in the small hallway of my childhood house, standing on the red shag carpeting, Smith Redfield told me he loves me. A sensation runs through my chest, smooth and languid as a river. It’s one of absolute knowing, that this is the man I’ve waited for to say those words. Others have said them before, but it’s like the universe clicked into perfect view when
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