Page 23 of Keeper of Hearts
I just roll my eyes at him, fighting a smile.
This is so much better than yesterday.
I spend the first half of class daydreaming.
"Troian."
I jerk when Mr. Blake says my name, blinking wide eyes at him. And then I frown when I realize he isn't speaking to me. He's pointing the way toward me.
A ripple goes through the class as Mrs. Alexander, the secretary, starts in my direction, a bright smile on her face, and a massive bouquet in her arms. The thing is so big she can barely fit her arms around it.
"Lucky girl," she says, smiling gently as she holds it out to me.
My cheeks blaze with heat as I take the bouquet from her, the scent of roses and freesia swirling around me. The flowers are stunning, a riot of white and red and pink and yellow.
There's a card tucked between the bulbs.
I reach for it with shaking fingers while Mr. Blake tries to get the class back on task. Half of them are still watching me, though, curiosity in their gazes.
Gage is staring at me. I feel the heat of his gaze boring into me.
I open the little envelope, slipping the card out.
Troian,
I have spread my dreams under your feet. Tread softly because you tread on my dreams.
I love you,
Gage
My hands are shaking when I look over at him, but he just smiles at me as if he didn't just ruin me with a Yeats poem and three little words.
By the time lunch rolls around, I'm a mess. I've been thinking about him and his poem and his confession all day. They're all I've thought about.
I practically run to the library, desperate to see him, to touch him.
He's already there when I arrive, leaning in the corner of the alcove with a smirk on his handsome face.
I walk right up to him.
"You sent me flowers." I've said it at least five times already today, but I can't stop myself. No one ever sends me flowers.
"You liked them?" he asks, his grin boyish.
I throw my arms around him in response, squeezing.
He chuckles, wrapping me up in a hug that makes my heart sing.
"You cheated," I murmur, tipping my head back to look at him. "You used Yeats."
"He's your favorite."
I love him for knowing that.
He curves his hand around my jaw, his expression serious. "I meant it, you know. My dreams are spread beneath your feet, butterfly. They're all I have to give you right now, but they're yours."
I lean up on my tiptoes, crushing my lips to his.
