María José laughed.
Not the nervous, breathless kind of laugh one might give when faced with an unhinged man confessing his love in the early noon.
No.
She burst out laughing.
Dios, it was the most infuriatingly beautiful sound I had ever heard. A full-bodied, uninhibited laugh that shook her tiny frame, made her head tilt back, and made her hands clutch her stomach as if I had just told the funniest joke in the world.
I frowned. "What's so funny?"
She gasped between laughs, shaking her head. "You—you…" Another peal of laughter escaped her, making her shoulders tremble. "Do you even have an idea what love is?"
Love. What is love?
How do I tell her I didn't give a batshit whatever it was but my mouth knew to articulate what I felt in the depth of my heart as love?
I settled for scowling and saying, "No. But neither do you."
That caught her off guard. Her laughter died in her throat, and she blinked at me, the afternoon sun illuminating the puzzled furrow in her brow.
