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My eyes attach to the smile she beams at me and I can’t help but think how cute that dimple is. “Because,” she giggles, “I’m your kryptonite.”
Lifting my eyes to what she’s examining, I draw a sharp breath, placing my hand over my mouth. My brows furrow as recognition sets in. He kept it.
Now, looking at the same sketch, displayed in a glass shadow box as if it was the most valuable item he owned, my eyes glisten with unshed tears. It’s only when I lean in to read the tiny inscription on the wooden frame that my tears break free. In beautiful, slanted script, it says, Anisa, my first muse.
“I love every fucking one of your curves. Now, eat the damn pizza.”
The movie progresses but the only thing I’m acutely aware of is the movement of my girls next to me. Holy shit. My girls? Did I just think that?
