“Oh, yeah?” I squeak out.
“Yeah.”
I feel a fine point on my back. “Are you drawing on me?”
“No, I’m writing on you.”
“What are you writing?” I laugh because it’s ridiculous. I feel like I’m in junior high all over again.
His responding chuckle is low and deep. It makes my stomach flip and my core tingle. “You’ll have to go look.”
Rhett sounds so satisfied, so smug, and when I turn and glance back at him, his expression is a perfect match.
“Fine,” I say, clambering off the bed. I pad into the bathroom, the one that still smells like lavender Epsom salts, and turn my back to the mirror. I give him a curious look as he watches me from the edge of the bed, and then I turn back to see what he’s written.
He’s connected the freckles to say Mine.
And God, in this moment, I feel like that might be true.