He never doubted that they were inevitable.

All the cliché signs were there. Electricity in their glances, drums in their heartbeats, bonfires and explosions in their brushes of skin on skin.

He was positive that he would put his life on the line for her; she never knew until the day he did.

Sometimes she would look at him and he would fully believe it when she said that she didn't care for him. Mostly he just smiled to himself because he knew her better than that.

One day he saw her drawing children. She wasn't a very good artist, but he could still make out the mahogany hair and chocolate eyes. He smiled. She couldn't bring herself to smile back and mumbled something about how that new guy at school had brown hair and eyes.

Not even Spencer fell for that.

One night they danced. They were surrounded by people, but when a song began to play that had once been played for them on a darker night, it didn't matter.

He fell harder.

Yet again and again, they wouldn't happen. He had made the first thousand-and-one moves. Only one was up to her.

Every time, she came shy of it. Sam or Spencer would come in and ruin the moment, or the phone would ring, or any of a million things and the moment would fall, forgotten, to the floor (which by now must be covered with lost Carly-and-Freddie moments).

He was never quite sure when they went from Carly and Freddie-in-love to Carly-and-Freddie (in love). One day her eyes just seemed to shine a little more and the next day everybody really knew.

Maybe the thousand-and-second move would have to be his after all.

Oh, she blushed, and glanced, and brushed, and danced, but never breathed a word of feelings or future or Freddie, I love you.

One sunny afternoon, she took his hand. He looked at her. She smiled, and blushed, and still didn't speak.

He realized she didn't need to.

Eventually, they couldn't get enough of talking about them. Grass would grow around them as they conjured up sparkling plans of dust that would always fall to the ground.

It was their last summer, after all, and neither planned to stay.

Suddenly it was farewell, and the million things they'd planned to do that hot summer didn't seem important.

She said she thought it was best if they broke it off, and he said she was wrong because that could never be right for either one of them and she knew it.

She did.

So it was a dozen calls a week (he sent her flowers, too).

College was over in a whirlwind of grades and more plans and when he flew in to see her, everybody asked when they'd marry.

Before he can answer, she said that she'd like an autumn wedding, like her mom and dad, if that's okay with him.

Stunned, he nodded.

White flowers, pink dresses, green napkins, and silver.

They honeymooned in Europe, in a hotel with chocolate-covered strawberries on demand, and it became Carly Benson he loved.

Eventually, they moved back to Seattle from New York from Chicago because triplets, Freddie, do you know how big a handful they'll be? This way Spencer can help.

Maybe not every day was perfect but they still came pretty darn close.

A dozen more whirlwinds and then it's the triplets graduating and getting proposed to (three daughters, what a headache!) and the nest became empty faster than he could have imagined.

It's sort of beautiful.

He said a prayer every night for his four girls. Sometimes he even cried.

One day, Freddie Benson looked up and realized he was old. Most men are saddened by this realization. He was not. He had everything he'd ever wanted: the best friends, the best family, and her—his inevitability.