With All My Love
He looked older, but in a good way, but his smile was still the same—warm, open, and instantly disarming.
“Lilacs,” I murmured, my lips curving into a small, genuine smile. “My favorite.”
He smiled back, stepping inside. “Figured you’d like them. I saw them and thought of you.”
I felt a pang of nostalgia, a ghost of the girl who used to feel a thrill at his small gestures. “Thank you, Jesse.” I set them on the counter, the sweet scent of the flowers instantly mingling with the faint smell of old books and coffee that had settled into the apartment.
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