“That happiness isn’t safe.”
His face had fallen.
Then I had touched his hand.
“But you are.”
I remembered the words.
I remembered saying them.
I remembered Reid’s eyes.
The way love looked before I had learned to believe it would stay.
A sob broke from me.
Reid caught me immediately.
“Noah.”
“I remember.”
“What?”
“This room.”
I turned inside his arms, desperate to show him the memory before it faded.
“We sat there. There was a green blanket. You had a book.”
His face changed.
“You asked why I was quiet.”
He stopped breathing.
“I told you happiness wasn’t safe.”
Reid’s eyes filled.
“And then?”
“I said you were.”
The memory settled rather than disappeared.
“It was the first time I understood the difference.”
Reid held my face.
“I remember.”
“I remember you remembering.”
A wet laugh broke between us.
He kissed me.
