but right now it’s as though the whole world has shrunk to his face. His brown hair, his honest eyes, that crescent smile.
‘What . . . do you mean?’ I force the words out.
‘What I said. I love it too,’ he says, not taking his eyes off mine.
‘You said you.’
‘Well . . . maybe that’s what I meant.’
I love it. So do I. You.
The words are dancing around my mind like jigsaw pieces, fitting together this way and that way.
‘What, exactly?’ I have to say it.
‘You know exactly.’ His eyes are smiling to match his orange-segment mouth. But they’re grave too.
‘Well . . . I love it too,’ I say, my throat tight. ‘You.’
‘Yes.’ I swallow. ‘Yes.’
We don’t need to say any more. And I know I’ll always remember this moment, right here, standing in the park with the ducks and the sunshine and his arms round me.