At the end of the day, I’m a poor match, love. I have nothing to offer you. At least not yet. I don’t have the faintest idea what I’m doing, and I fear my paucity will become the greatest sum between us. But when you smile at me, your eyes hooded and heavy in the first light of day, it’s gold in my pockets, gold in my hands, gold in my unformed heart. Gold, gold, gold, Cora. I’ll gather your smiles, and they’ll make us rich.
