They were still kissing. She’d lost track of how long it had been. Minutes? Hours? Time had melted somewhere between her fingers in his hair and the warmth of his mouth against hers.
Her heart beat like it was trying to escape. His hands were on her waist, gentle now, not pulling, just holding. Like he meant it. Like he saw her.
He’s so attractive.
That wasn’t new.
But the way he kissed her—slow now, reverent—it wasn’t just about that. Not anymore. He called her beautiful. And he looked at her like he meant it. Like she was something rare, like she mattered. Not just a pretty face, not a charity case, not a burden.
Maybe she did love him. Wait. Did she just think that?
No. Not love.
What even is love?
Back in the car at the pharmacy he’d said he cared about her. That he wanted to p
