“Should we do this together, again?” Clint asked, his voice hopeful. Last time, we’d burrowed into opposite ends of the couch, reading aloud the parts that were okay to share and promising to take the parts we couldn’t to our graves. We laughed, Clint cried—although he swore something had gotten into his eye—and then we wrote our replies, sealed and dropped them in the mailbox to ship out before watching—more like falling asleep on—a sappy movie.
This is cute tho, finally I’m not bewildered and angry or laughing at this book
