“You’re really getting married, huh?” he asks. He doesn’t know why he keeps asking, why he keeps wishing the answer were different when he knows it won’t.
Her eyes drop close. “Yeah,” she sighs. “Yeah, I am.”
“I wish I could…”
“You wish what?” she whispers, her breath close to his face.
He swallows, tries to articulate his thoughts through the haze in his mind. He’s so, so close to her - close enough to see the faint dusting of freckles across her nose… (X)