“There’s something wrong with me, Noah. Fix it.“ Noah’s expression broke my heart as he brushed my hair from my face, and skimmed the line of my neck. ”I can’t“ ”Why not?“ I asked, my voice threatening to crack. ”Because,“ he said, ”You’re not broken.”
You’re the girl who called me an asshole the first time we spoke. The girl who tried to pay for lunch even after you learned I have more money than God. You’re the girl who risked her ass to save a dying dog, who makes my chest ache whether you’re wearing green silk or ripped jeans.
I knew Noah worshipped Charlie Parker and that his toothbrush was green. That he wouldn’t bother to button his shirts correctly but always made his bed. That when he slepthe curled into himself and that his eyes were the color of the clouds before it rained, and I knew he had no problem eating meat but would stubly leave the room if animals started to kill one another on the Discovery Channel. I knew one hundered little things about Noah Shaw but when he kissed me I couldn’t remember my own name.