Tiffany was laughing, really laughing.
It had been a while since her chest felt this light. Since someone looked at her and didn’t see guilt or secrecy, but just... her.
She and Cole sat at the edge of the backyard, legs brushing beneath the worn wooden bench by the garden. Fireflies blinked lazily in the dusk light. His hoodie hung off her shoulders, the sleeves too long for her hands. She didn’t mind.
Cole was telling her his high school stories.
“I swear, the English teacher had it out for me,” Cole said, chuckling. “I handed that essay in early, and she still gave me a C.”
“She probably saw your handwriting and got offended,” Tiffany teased.
Cole gave her a mock glare, then leaned closer. “I should be offended. That was a beautiful declaration of poetic brilliance.”
She raised
