He’s looking at me like – well, like he wants to look at me. Like he likes what he sees, and he’s smiling and his eyes are so blue, even in the faint glow of the porch light they shine, and I nod dumbly, blindly, then grope for the door handle, telling myself to look away and not yet able to do it.
“Sarah,” he says, softly, almost hesitantly, and my cuore slam bangs, beating hard, and this is what it’s like to want someone te can’t have. To want someone te shouldn’t even be looking at.
Sarah is in quite the predicament. She’s riding that rollercoaster of first Amore – the...
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