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I’d known her since we were kids—our families were friends—but she’d always been a snotty little bookworm who thought she was too smart for me.
“I will admit that acting wildly in love with you is going to be a challenge, but I will do my best,” she said, twirling pasta on her fork.
“Yes, I want you,” she whispered. “But I like playing games.”
“I still think you should just stay in here,” I told her. “It seems stupid for you to go back and forth. Plus I like sleeping next to you.”
I never stop thinking about you. No one has ever made me feel the way you do. Sometimes I can’t even breathe. I want to give you everything.
And that was the moment I knew—I was madly, deeply, desperately in love with him.
“I didn’t,” he said with a shrug. “But it was either try it or lose her, and I knew I couldn’t lose her.”
Nothing was right without her there.
“You’re in love with her.”
“I love you,” he said, taking my left hand and slipping the ring on my finger. “More than I’ve ever loved anything or anyone. I’m sorry I made you wait to hear it. I want to spend the rest of my life with you.”
A sob escaped me, and a tear slid down my cheek. “I love you too.”
