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We lie in comfortable silence when something small and yellow flutters past my face.

“Oh, look! Butterflies!”

I sit up, grinning as I watch two little yellow wings dance between the apple blossoms. The little wanderer flutters around us for a moment before settling on a blade of grass near my knee.

“Hey there, little guy,” I whisper, slowly extending my hand.

To my absolute delight, it takes flight again, circles my fingers, and finally settles on the back of my hand.

“Look, Milo!” I beam, holding my hand perfectly still. “Isn’t it beautiful?”

He props himself up on one elbow and leans closer.

“That’s not a butterfly, sweetheart. It’s a moth.”

“I know.”

“You know?” He arches a brow.

“Of course I know.” I laugh, watching the tiny insect open and close its delicate wings. “Doesn’t make it any less beautiful, though, does it?”

Milo doesn’t answer.

“Look at its wings,” I continue, turning my hand ever so slightly so the sunlight catches them. “All those tiny little patterns. And that color! It’s like someone took a paintbrush and dipped it in sunshine.”

I smile as the moth begins crawling toward my knuckles.

“Poor little thing. Butterflies get all the attention, don’t they? Everyone loves butterflies. They write poems about them, put them in paintings, call them beautiful. But moths?” I shake my head. “Most people just swat them away without even bothering to look and see the beauty in them.”

I glance at Milo over my shoulder.

“Seems a little unfair, don’t you think? Just because it’s called something different doesn’t mean it deserves to be loved any less.”

Still, Milo isn’t looking at the moth. He’s looking at me.

“What?”

“I love you.”

The words are so unexpected that, for a moment, I forget how to breathe.

The moth takes flight, disappearing somewhere among the apple blossoms, but I barely notice.

Because Milo Fletcher just told me he loves me.

Not in some teasing, offhand way. Not as a joke or something said in the heat of the moment.

He said it like he meant every single word.

I stare at him, my heart beating so hard I’m surprised he can’t hear it.

Milo swallows, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he searches my face.

“Did you hear me, Max?”

I nod, still speechless.

He lets out a nervous little laugh, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.