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... ce sounded light and polite, but her chest was on fire. Her throat was dry.

Inside her head, she was panicking. Please let it be normal. Please let it be boring. Maybe he’ll say he wants me to sing for him like some drunk bard. I’ll do it. I’ll sing until my lungs bleed. Or maybe he wants me to write him a poem, calling him more precious than the moon. I’ll do it. I’ll lick his boots if I have to. Just don’t let it be something crazy.

But then she saw it—his smile.

That s ...

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