I ran my thumb along the edge of the book, riffling the pages, and that musty, prickly smell of an old paperback reached my nostrils. I’ve always loved that smell,
“I don’t think I’m falling in love with you.” His eyes stay locked with mine as his thumb glides over my jaw. “I am in love with you.”
“How do you know?”
“How do you know you need to breathe?” he asks in return, and tears start to fill my eyes. “Loving you isn’t something I think about. It’s something that has happened without me thinking about it and it is as natural to me as taking my next breath.”
As always , Lindsey felt all her trouble ease once she was back among the familiar. Just seeing the names on the spines of the books was like calling hello to old friends.
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