“This says ‘Kepler Quinn’.” He hitches a brow. “I suppose it might.” I blink, shaking my head. “Why would it say that?” “Because it was mine,” he says with a shrug. “My grandfather bought it for me. And then I gave it to you because it seemed like you needed it more.” I’m staring across at him, manual held loosely in my hands, my mouth hanging open. “You gave me your telescope?” “You didn’t have one,” he says simply, going back to fidgeting with the focus knob. “I think this is jammed.” “Wait, step back a minute.” I’m staring at him, heat racing up my throat. “I didn’t have one, so you gave me
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