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“You’re just weird in general,” he added, holding back a grin, and I lobbed a cushion at him. He raised his hands and laughed, “But I like weird.”
He grinned. “I pay attention to a lot of things about you, Percy Fraser.”
“What I’m trying to say is that it doesn’t matter what other people think about you, because if they don’t like you, they’re clearly morons.”
“Sometimes I think no one gets me the way you do,” he said, the pink of his cheeks deepening to scarlet. “Do you ever get that feeling?”
“You’re still the most beautiful woman I’ve ever known,” he says, and it sounds like coarse sandpaper.
“You and me are special,” he started. “There’s no one else I’d rather spend time with than you. There’s no one else I’d rather talk to than you. And there’s no one else I’d rather kiss than you.”
“I did want you. I do want you. I’ve always wanted you.”
The way I felt about you was always so clear to me—even when we were young I knew you and I were meant for each other. Two halves of a whole. I loved you so much that the word ‘love’ didn’t seem big enough for how I felt.
“You can forgive me?” I whisper. “I forgave you years ago, Percy.”
