“Imogen.” She rolls back down beside me, scoops my hair back, and kisses me. “Do you need me to spell it out? I’ve been”—she kisses me—“losing my goddamn mind”—she kisses me again—“ever since that dog wandered over, and you just—boom”—another kiss—“dropped down and hugged her. The look on your face. And then you’re like, ‘My goat was named Daisy.’”
