“Tell me, Zaira.” God, Ilovedthe way he looked at me, the way he ran his hypnotic gaze over me.
“It’s all that matters. Knowing that I mean everything to you – it’s all that matters to me. Because you, Gallan Underwood, mean everything to me, too,” I said.
He smiled that stunning smile at me, and then gently kissed every one of my knuckles.
How did I get so lucky?I asked myself.Just…how?
Only a few weeks ago, I was worried I’d embarrass myself if I came too close to him. That I’d make a fool out of myself if I opened my mouth and word-vomited something weird or unnecessary to him. Because he’stheGallan Underwood, and I?
What was I?
His everything, apparently…
Who knew I’d ever say that, ever get tohearthat?
We spent hours talking about our childhood, about the quirks of being the only children to our parents; about our first wins, our first losses; about love, about friends; about anything and everything; about the silly things that just randomly came out of our mouths, and meant nothing in a literal sense.
Mateo served dessert – a delicious tray of ice cream sandwiches and frosted Nutella-and-strawberries – and as I got to know Gallan even better, I realized that it wasn’t just the night that was perfect.
It washimthat was perfect, too.
