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“Rosemary.”
Without looking, I can feel Chasen’s grin. “Yes, I do love her, so much. Not the kind of love…” but his words fade out.
“What kind of love?”
He pauses. “Rosie is the salt of the earth, she’s always been there for me. She’s got a good soul, and a huge heart.”
“Do you worry about if she’ll stay in Seattle?”
“We’ll be close friends no matter what.”
We lapse into quiet. This time it’s nice. It’s perfect. The sky becomes so speckled with stars that there is more light than darkness in it.
“The ghost that haunts romantics,” I start quoting, not remembering where I once heard it, “is not what was…but rather what could have been.”
“Maybe it can always be what could’ve been.” My whole body hums at his words.
“Chasen,” I murmur, pressing my face into his chest, “kiss me again. Make it good.”
