Alessandra
“Erica, can you say hi to Quinn?”
Staring out at Quinn Kingsley on the porch—his navy blazer speckled with rain drops, that perfect half smile on his lips—I feel as though I’m looking into a dream. It hardly feels real that he would wrap up dinner with his family early in favor of keeping me company while I’m watching the munchkins. But here he is, as real as ever, carrying a reusable grocery bag in his arms.
Trading in her usual sass for shyness, Erica peeks her head out from behind me and smiles bashfully before hiding again, her white-blonde hair falling in front of her eyes. It’s unlike her to be this way, but then again, I can’t blame her. I was taken aback the first time I met Quinn, too.
I remember that flustered version of myself who was shocked at her own ability to
