Our Last Dance

I narrowed my eyes at him. "Oh, so you're the spice master now? Is that your new superpower?"

He smiled, leaning closer. "Among other things, yes. But my primary superpower is making you smile."

My lips curved involuntarily, fighting against the urge to smile.

Cheeky bastard.

"Alright, enough with the smooth talk. Your lines are sounding straight out of a 90s movie," I remarked, trying to suppress a chuckle.

He chuckled, his smile unapologetic. "Well, you know what they say, 'If it ain't broke, don't fix it.' Classic lines never go out of style."

I rolled my eyes, unable to hold back a laugh. "Oh, spare me the vintage charm, Mr. Smooth Operator. We're in the 21st century now."

He leaned in a much closer with a mock-serious expression. "Ah, but you can't deny that a little old-school flair adds a touch of magic to modern times."

I couldn't resist bursting into laughter, shaking my head at his stubborn attitude. "Fine, you win this round. But don't expect me to swoon like a 90s heroine."

He shrugged. "No promises needed. Your smile says it all."

"Oh, god," I exclaimed, pushing him as I got up and sat with my knees folded. He toppled over onto his back, laughing wholeheartedly as he did so.

A smile crept onto my face. The feeling was overwhelming - how much I loved this guy. It was a love that could be painful, but in the best way possible. Who would have thought that I, of all people, would be constructing sentences and waxing poetic about love? But here I was, head over heels.

"You're a handful, you know?" I told him. Maybe this is what all those couples in love were always going on about-the magic of spending quality time together.

He let out a snicker. "Ah, and this is where I'm supposed to say, 'That's why you love me, right?'