“She’s gorgeous,” I sigh, running a finger over the paint, daydreaming about driving her down Highway 1 along the water with my hair flying everywhere, all of my worries and sadness whipping out of my body into the salty air. “Yeah.” His voice is low and close. I turn my head, and he’s right there, his gaze bouncing to where I’m touching his car. But I swear it bounced from my face.
LOVE THIS MICROTROPE
