I let out a deep, controlled breath. If she could stand there and stop being so damn combative, maybe I wouldn’t want to ram my head through a wall, I want to say.

I feel myself sort of falling into this image of Tilly, eyes grabbing at little details I hadn’t noticed before. It’s easier to look at her like this, in the safety of pixels. In real life, she’s so much energy and noise and movement, it makes my brain feel like it might short-circuit if I’m not careful

Or, more likely, I’m just romanticizing the hell out of him as my too soft heart tends to do.

“You kissed me!” she screeches. “No, I didn’t.” “Yes, you did!” “No, I—” “Do it again,” Tilly says, reaching out and fisting her hands in my shirt, pulling me toward her like I have any power to resist. When it comes to Tilly, I’m the tide and she’s the moon; I go wherever she wants me.

Realizing the longer I hide out in the bathroom, the greater the chance he’ll think I’m pooping, I flick off the lights and step out.

A blush rushes to her cheeks, warm and startling. Pantone 16–1720, Strawberry Ice. It rather suits her.

“And this is something you’ve told me. You told me change is hard for you to adjust to. That you need a little time. I always thought of it in the sense of travel, and that was dumb.” “It’s not dumb,” I whisper. “We’re just learning.”

One. Bed.

I stop crying long enough for Oliver to coax me outside for a walk where he then proceeds to buy me food from every vendor I look twice at. This gorgeous angel has really cracked my love language.