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Next May.
I swallowed.
Next May.
“Ken…” I blinked again, expelling one big, fat, overwhelmed tear from my eye. “That’s almost a year from now.”
“Yeah.” He smiled. “We should probably go ahead and count it as your birthday present for next year, too.”
I laughed. No, I fucking cackled and buried myself in his chest.
Ken wrapped his reluctant arms around my shoulders as I cried and hiccuped and giggled all over him.
“And maybe graduation and Christmas while we’re at it,” he mused, gradually relaxing into my embrace.
“And Valentine’s Day?” I giggled, peeking up at his stubbled, square jaw.
Ken’s hard mouth curled up on one side, and I knew before he even parted his lips what he was about to say.
“Fuck Valentine’s Day.”
I smiled.
Yeah. Fuck Valentine’s Day.
