Larissa ☆ﾟ.*･｡ﾟ

“I like you.”

“I like you, too.”

“I’ve liked you since the morning you ran into me.”

I giggle and try to shove him away, but he uses the motion to pull us closer. “You have not,” I say.

“I have,” he whispers, and now his lips brush against my cheek. “I remember thinking, ‘Nice job, dickhead. Add another girl to the list of people who hate you.’”

“I don’t hate you. I’ve never hated you.”

“Now, that’s reassuring,” he says, but I can hear the smile in his voice. He inhales along my cheekbone, and sparks flare through my abdomen. “You should write for Hallmark.”

“All my future love letters will start with ‘To whom it may concern.’”

“Are you going to send me future love letters?”

I flush, and I’m sure he can see it. Feel it.”
― Brigid Kemmerer, Letters to the Lost