I looked him in the eyes when he told me he loved me. I took him seriously, and I listened. He wasn’t shy, he didn’t stutter, and he held my gaze as he said it. I didn’t dare laugh at him, but it was hard not to smile. As he spoke, the engine of his shitty car ticked like a bomb as it began to cool. Our breathing was synchronized, and I snuck a glance at his hands. Strong, man hands. Hands that would look good holding my hands. He waited for my response. The moment was so inevitable that I almost felt as if part of me was watching the scene unfold from outside the car window. There was no hesitation between his confession – if you could call it that – and my response. I knew how I felt about him, and I was prepared. So I told him I loved him too. Of course I told him I loved him.
The Things I Didn’t Do When A Boy Told Me He Loved Me by Catherine Battey