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I have a theory. Hating someone feels disturbingly similar to being in love with them.
“That’s why I’m crying. Because Danny told me I’m a beautiful girl, and I nearly fell off the barstool. You’ve ruined me.”
“I …” he begins to say, but he’s got nothing. “Lucy, I—”
You’re always beautiful.
He’s my days of the week. The squares on my calendar.
I want you for more than your body. I want you for your Matchbox cars. —Shortcake
“But you know he’s in love with you, right?”
“So pretty,” he tells me. “Just so pretty.”
He’s looking at me with fierce tenderness in his eyes. Eyes like he loves me.
“You’re beautiful. You’re always beautiful.”
he lets out a shaky breath, like I’ve offered him forever, not a few days.
“I like you when you look a little wrecked.”
I love Joshua Templeman.
“But I love you.”
He laughs. “I know.”
“Since the moment I saw you. Since the moment you smiled at me, I felt like I was falling backward off a cliff. The feeling has never stopped. I’ve been trying to drag you down with me. In the worst, most ill-conceived and socially stunted way possible.”
“I love strawberries. I’m so lovesick, I eat them constantly. Can I nickname you Shortcake? It’ll be a dead giveaway that I love you.”
“I love you, Lucy Hutton. So much, you have no idea. Please be my best friend.”
