“Well, speaking of crazy,” he said. His smile turned coy. “I . . . may have also made a little trip to the ’burbs with the abuelos while you were away for interviews.” I pulled back, not entirely understanding. “There was a long debate about whether we should go with gin or schnapps,” Ricky continued. “I tried to tell them that you were a Peppermint Patty girl, but Abuelo talked me out of it.” He gave me an earnest look, and the pieces clicked together. The man I loved, sitting across from my father in my family’s home, sipping Muscatella. Asking permission to be mine forever.
Fucking chokinggg
