I’m about to hug the crap out of you,” I warned him. “Like, full-on feelings hug where it goes on for a bit too long and becomes slightly awkward and we both clear our throats and shuffle our feet when it’s over.

Because you love me,” I said, sounding smug.“More like you grew on me,” he said. “Like fungus.

You told him, huh? Through your secret wizarding network that you still haven’t told me about.”“It’s called a letter in the mail,” he said.

I like your shoes,” I said. Because I did. They were pink and pointed, and I wanted a pair like that so bad. My mom and dad groaned. Morgan looked at me and cocked his head.“Thank you, little one. I made them out of the tears of a succubus and a lightning-struck tree stump I found under the Winter Moon. I like your face.”I grinned. “Thank you, big one. My parents made it when they got married. I was a honeymoon baby, whatever that means.

Most people like hair,” Morgan said. “His is curly and dreamy. Now shut up.

That was a thing of beauty. And so disgusting, coming from you. What the hell. Thank you for subjecting me to that. And I hate you.