Never thought I could fall in love. Not completely, anyway. My parents never showed me how—not by example, that's for sure. They weren't even really around . . . that much. So relationships, true love, and marriage weren't going to happen for me. And I was fine. Until I met someone. And it changed everything.

I couldn't be more happy if I tried, though I'm still scared. Scared it won't last because that's the way life is. But I'm willing to try. Because it's worth it.

So much of this is worth it.

Even the dependence. The feeling in my gut that twists my insides and makes me question my health—body and mind; it's all worth it.

Never knew it was possible to depend on someone so completely it hurts to be away from them. And I know pain. It was painful just saying goodbye last night, touching and kissing like it was the last time. It was hard to part, but it's always hard to part. Have to talk myself into leaving every time we're together. So the thought that I don't have to anymore fills me with excitement—like having impromptu hot, dirty sex under the bridge at The Wedge excitement. Which I cannot get out of mind. It was damn good. But this—us together—it's . . . incomprehensible that this is actually happening.

Because I never get what I want. But today . . . I am.

We're together now, creeping through her house. Heading upstairs, my feet miss the creaky spots. I learned them early on, getting used to the sounds this old house makes in case I needed to sneak around or out. Didn't really have to. I was lucky in that way, I guess. The small, pink flip-flopped feet beside me make noise, but it's not loud; it doesn't even outdo the bass thumping of my heart that's ready to pound out of my chest. This is just . . . crazy.

She's beside me in the doorway, looking me over and grinning. Really? I get to have this? Be with her? Maybe forever? The idea baffles me so much I'm in a stupor. She chuckles and enters her room, smirking over her shoulder. Her smile, giggle, body that keeps me up late at night, wit that keeps me laughing, and quiet innocence that keeps me intrigued is overwhelming. Everyday she overwhelms me. But, all of it—this, us, our dynamic—it's all great, really. She's great, and she's moving in with me. Today. How is this happening?

"You okay?"


"You're quiet."

"Just thinking."

"About what?"

"About you."


"And our future."

"Yeah, huh. Our future."

"Do you want me to . . ." I point to her dresser but she waves me away, so I sit on the bed, watching her move around her space so comfortable in her skin. Which I love. I love that all we need is a private, quiet place, our bodies—nothing else—and we can communicate without all the distraction that words create.

Although . . . I love her words. But there are times when words confuse, when they're too much, when they're not enough. Words fail where the body does not. And I think she gets that. Hope she does. She seems to—she's always been able to speak to me using our own shorthand. Love that so much. That she's okay with my silence.

"These or these?" She holds up two pairs of underwear and raises an eyebrow. Want to lay her down right now and say neither. She never needs them as far as I'm concerned, though the two she's holding up are awesome—one was even awesome under that bridge.

I flash the peace sign, and she places both in her backpack, which is ridiculous because she has five times the amount of clothes I have, and I used a duffle bag.

"Gonna get a bigger bag." I point to the hall, and she nods.

Peeking into the linen closet, there's a suitcase on the bottom adorned with her address. I'll never forget these house numbers for as long as I live.

She packs her favorite clothes (and my favorite clothes—little red shirt included), some face stuff, and other personal items, including my notebook.

When she's ready, we say goodbye to her room, her house, her life here. I run my hands up her back and pull her in close and tight—where I like her—and kiss her on her front porch. I shake my head in disbelief when she drops hers into my chest and sighs. Still can't believe this is happening, but I barrel on because I want this more than I've ever wanted anything.

"You ready?"

"Yeah. You?"

With my hand on her hip and my nose in her hair, my girl locks the door to my past with a click. She slides her hand into my own, linking our fingers.

"Yeah, me too." I hold my future's hand, leading her into the first day of the rest of our lives.

Author's Note: You'll be happy to know I have written more, and I will continue to write more. And I do hope to post it someday. Life is busy—for Masen and Bella, and for me too. *shrugs*