Sarah Adams

We spend hours in our own world. Our love story tangible. Our hopes bared. Our souls light. Our fears set aside for this brief moment in time where nothing can touch us. In this place—in those arms—I am safe and free. I open my arms and dance in the rain. I twirl in the current. I lie back in the meadow as dark eyes sparkle above me.

Before we move into the living room, Jacob speaks and makes me fall in love with him in a single statement.

Oh, by the way, there are chocolate-chip muffins in the kitchen.”

Sorry, oops, wrong wish. You thought I said please make Ryan want me? What I said was, Ryan GOSLING. Honest mistake, it’s fine. I’ll wait while you beam him down for me.

I refuse to let a man break me again. No matter

how many figurines I could set on his ab shelves.

She slipped under my covers and burrowed into my side like a little bunny making a new home

I feel like I have a wild fox in my apartment. It’s sleeping now. She’ll probably eat if I carefully set out a nice breakfast and back away with my hands held up in surrender, but if she senses any sudden movement, she’ll bolt.

I have the greatest urge to hold our clasped hands in the air like I just won a boxing match and yell, “I’M HOLDING RYAN’S HAND!!!” at the top of my lungs for all of Chicago to hear.

And I act on that urge.

“Shhh, you loon,” Ryan says, yanking our hands back down.

He makes me promise I’ll behave when we go into the restaurant, and I agree, but only because I have one hand behind my back, fingers crossed. I’ll do as I see fit once we get in there.

I’m shocked to see how big my smile is—and I’m not looking at the water.

I’m looking at Cooper…and he’s looking at me.