“It’s nice,” he said. “What?” “Your real smile.” Forget a skipped beat. My heart skipped a whole song. This time, however, I covered it up by pointing my spoon at him. “That was a compliment.” “If you say so.” “Don’t try to play it off.” I was proud of how normal I sounded when my insides were doing things that were anything but normal. Fluttering, skipping, twisting. My doctor would have a field day. “We’ve passed a milestone. Rhys Larsen’s first compliment to Bridget von Ascheberg, and it only took two years. Mark it down.”
