26
The room fades to black. Everything and everyone else disappears, and all that remains is him, standing there motionless, gazing at me with his smile so warm and his heart shining so brightly in his eyes.
He’s freshly shaven. It makes the hard angle of his jaw gleam like the edge of a blade. He’s wearing his usual outfit of boots, black leather jacket, and jeans, but his hair has been combed and trimmed. He looks scrubbed. Refreshed.
Knock-out, breath-stealing, uterus-scorching beautiful.
Someone says, “Is that Theo?” Then his name is all over the place, whispered in every corner of the room, an astonished repetition of TheoTheoTheo in dozens of hushed voices, none meant to carry but collectively as loud as a bell.
He moves out from the shadows of the doorway and gracefully crosses
