I swallow a little too heavily, my hand trembling around the glass with shaking fingers. Wetness builds in my eyes as I try to focus on the water inside the cup.

“I love you. Even hung over with last night’s make-up on, you’re stunning,” Jake whispers quietly, as his hand slides over mine on the glass, his face close enough for my cheek to warm from his breath; his touch is the healing balm I ache for. I flicker up sharply, surprised at how he guesses my inner thoughts, always ...