Three Years, Just a Glimmer
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Summary
The power cut out suddenly during the Winter Formal.
In the pitch-black chaos, an arm slid around my waist. A voice, laced with a confident smile, murmured close to my ear, “Hey, beautiful. Mind if I steal a kiss?”
Before I could even process the words, the lights flickered back on.
The boy—the boy—saw my face. His arm dropped away as if he’d been burned, and he muttered a curse under his breath.
“Sorry,” he said, his voice flat. “Wrong person.”
After three years of a silent, hopeless crush, that was the first thing Miles Butler ever said to me.
