“You want to do normal with me?” I ask as tears I can’t help spring and spill. “I do,” he murmurs, wiping them away. “Why are you crying again, Trésor?” “Because I’m okay with being a mouse . . . sometimes.” His brows pull into a deep V. “What?” “You don’t have to understand it.” “Okay, well, I love you, too, mouse.” He dips and kisses me again, and I feel the strength of it down to my toes as he pulls back, and uncertainty crosses his beautiful features. “I don’t know if I’ll be a good boyfriend.”
