Page 122 of Maybe You

Next photo.

Me.

Head thrown back mid-laugh.

Next photo.

It’s difficult to breathe, and it gets more and more difficult with each passing shot I look at. My blood feels boiling hot, running through me.

I blink and blink and blink, trying to get rid of the wet curtain in front of my eyeballs.

“Wren?” Sutton says.

I lick my lips and open my mouth.

My throat is bone dry.

I look up.

At him.

“You made me look beautiful,” I blurt. Choke out. That stupid water curtain becomes a waterfall.

The photos rain down all around me as Sutton catches my face between his palms, thumbs sliding over my cheeks, wiping the waterfall away.

“No. You’ve always been beautiful. All of you. You’re so fucking beautiful, Wren. And strong and brave and smart and… everything. You’re everything.”

I wipe the back of my hand over my face and press the heels of my hands into my eyes to stop myself being this fucking stupid.

Sutton pulls my hands away and kisses me. Mouth. Cheeks. Eyes. Until I let out a wet snort of laughter.

“I’m a snotty mess,” I say.

“A beautiful snotty mess,” he corrects me.

I laugh some more.

And take a few breaths.

And slowly calm down.

“Thank you,” I say when the waterfall has finally dried up, and I can look at him.

He picks up one of the photos from the floor and looks at it before he puts it on the table in front of us and taps his finger against it.

“This is what I see when I look at you,” he says.

It crashes over me like a tidal wave.

Over me.

Through me.

Around me.

It’s everywhere.

I can’t deny it or ignore it or bury it.

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