He somehow stole a piece of my heart with that first scowl. And he’s stolen the rest of it in bits since then. The problem though when someone steals your heart is when they inevitably get buyer’s remorse—or would it be thief’s remorse?—and try to return it, it doesn’t fit back into place the same way. It’s different. When your heart gets stolen right from under your nose, it permanently changes. It shifts and transforms. It’s not in the same condition anymore when it gets shoved back at you.
