I rode the train home in a daze. I couldn’t stop smiling. I could barely believe any of this was real.

Nick liked me. Nick wanted me. How the hell was that even possible?

Unable to help myself, I pulled my phone out.

ELI: So does this mean I can text you now?

I meant it as a joke—how the hell could you date someone if you couldn’t even text them?—but I started to worry when Nick took a while to respond, and my stomach twisted when I read what he finally sent.

NICK: I… don’t know? I mean, it’s kind of ridiculous if I say we can’t. I realize that. But part of me also thinks this would be a really dumb and obvious way for people to accidentally find out about us? Is that shitty? Sorry :( I’m not very good at this

I sighed. Goddamn Nick. Even when he thought he was being shitty, he was still all caring and honest and wanted my opinion on everything

ELI: Okay, how about we change each other’s names in our phones into something else?

NICK: I don’t know, somehow that makes it feel even sketchier? Like we’re obviously trying to cover our tracks? I’m being annoying, I know. Just let me think about it, okay?

ELI: What, give you the time and space to think about something that clearly means a lot to you? Gross. We’re breaking up

NICK: Cute. At the very least, I’d need veto power over whatever name you were going to use for me instead of my real one

I snickered, then glanced around, hoping none of the other riders on the train were looking at me. My face probably looked insane right then, grinning from ear to ear as I was.

ELI: Dammit. How did you know I was going to call you Cherrie McDonut McChuckleston III?

NICK: That’s the price you pay for my affection—I know you too well

ELI: Ugh. No fair

NICK: Breaking up with me again?

ELI: Taking it under advisement

NICK: Duly noted

I rolled my eyes and sank deeper into my seat, smiling.

ELI: There is one thing you’re wrong about though

NICK: And what would that be?

ELI: You’re very good at this

ELI: In fact, you’re pretty much perfect

“You’re what?”

Aisling’s jaw dropped as I got in the car. I’d been waiting all weekend to tell her the news—I wanted to do it in person, which meant waiting til she picked me up on Sunday night.

“Dating.” I grinned.

“You are not.” She slapped my arm and glared at me. “Are you really?”

“Yes, we are, really,” I said, giving her an aggrieved look and rubbing my arm. “You can start driving, you know. We don’t want to be late.”

“Um, youth group can wait, we have more important things to discuss.” She narrowed her eyes. “You’d better not be lying. You can’t toy with my emotions like this. I have too much invested in the two of you now.”

“I’m not lying,” I protested. “I swear, it’s actually happening. I ended up going over to his apartment on Friday night, and we talked, and, well, he kissed me. He kissed me, Ash. And he told me he likes me and he wants to date and—” I broke off, smiling. “Actually, I see why you think I’m lying. It really is almost too good to be true.”

“You went over to his apartment?” Aisling stared at me. “How? When? Why? Tell me everything.”

“Okay, well, it’s a long story, so maybe you should actually start driving, and I will.”

Aisling sighed. “I just don’t wanna get distracted by my excitement and accidentally crash us into a tree.”

“I appreciate that, but I have utter faith in you.” I grinned, and Aisling finally pulled out onto the road. “So, it started when I got to the bar…”

To be fair, Aisling was right. It was hard not to get distracted that week, thinking about Nick as much as I was these days. I couldn’t help it, though. It all just felt so unlikely that I found myself wanting to talk to him every hour on the hour just to convince myself it wasn’t a fever dream.

I really did try to hold back from texting too much, though. I’d only just gotten Nick to admit he liked me—I didn’t want to push too hard and make him regret that. I wasn’t even sure exactly when I would see him next. It was Wednesday, and if I was going to go into the city, I needed to know in advance, so I could plan. But I didn’t want to be the one to ask.

Still, as I lay on my bed that night, remembering what it had felt like to lie in Nick’s bed, it occurred to me that maybe there was a way to text Nick today that didn’t seem clingy—a way that would just make him happy. And possibly make him… other things, too.

Five minutes later, I was naked, and trying to figure out how the hell it was possible to get a good picture of your ass when you were the one holding the camera. I wanted it to be hot, but not like, slutty hot. Or maybe just slutty enough. And besides getting a good angle, there was lighting to consider, and whether I wanted to use my mirror, or flash, and then I finally got the perfect shot only to realize that my room was a mess and I couldn’t send Nick something that made it look like I lived in a sty.

It took a full hour to get a picture I was happy with—though, admittedly, 30 minutes of that time was just spent cleaning my room—but I was smiling when I hit send.

This time, Nick’s response was immediate.

NICK: Jesus

NICK: Eli, what the fuck?

I frowned. That didn’t sound encouraging.

ELI: That’s not by any chance a GOOD what the fuck, is it?

ELI: And your way of saying that you liked it and you’d like more?

ELI: (Because if it is, trust me, I’ve got like 400 other pictures so I could definitely send a few additional ones)

NICK: God no. Don’t do that

My heart sank down into my shoes. Well, my socks. I wasn’t wearing shoes, and I was horizontal, lying in bed, and but something still managed to sink. My self-confidence, maybe.

ELI: Oh. Shit. Um, sorry?

Three little dots popped up to say that Nick was typing and I held my breath and waited to see what he said.

And waited.

And waited.

God, this was excruciating.

When Nick’s text finally came, my breath caught.

NICK: If I’m being perfectly honest, I’m freaked out even writing this, even responding at this point. And now I wish I’d said we couldn’t text. I know I’m probably overreacting. I know no one is ever going to see that picture. I know you’re 19, and I’m not your advisor anymore, and it doesn’t even have your face in it. I know all of that and I’m still terrified and wondering what would happen if someone saw it. Suffice it to say, could you please not send any more of those? At least until I’ve figured out a way not to have a heart attack about them?

And then, before I could even digest that:

NICK: That said… I didn’t NOT like it, and I wouldn’t NOT want to see more—but strictly hypothetically speaking, and no, that’s NOT code for you to send me more, or email them to me using the Cherrie account. Like really, please do not do that. But I did… like it.

NICK: God, first week as your boyfriend and I’m already being the worst. Eli, I DO like you and want to be with you and none of this should make you think I don’t, okay? I’m sorry I’m so weird and suck so much at this. I’ll get better, I promise

How did Nick do that? How did he make me feel like my heart might fracture—and then immediately mend it back together even warmer and stronger than before? I sighed.

ELI: You don’t suck at this. Stop apologizing. I should have asked before I sent that. And I won’t send any more

NICK: Thanks for putting up with me. I mean it

I shook my head, wondering how I could ever convey to Nick how little that sentiment matched my feelings. ‘Putting up with’ wasn’t even close. Being grateful for? Being head over heels for? Sure. But ‘putting up with?’ Not even a tiny bit.

“Hey,” Nick said, sounding aggrieved. He flicked a highlighter cap at me from the far side of the couch. “Stop kicking me.”

“I’m not kicking you,” I told him primly. “I’m trying to play footsie.”

We were sitting on the sofa in his apartment, each of us propped up at one end, knees bent, with our feet meeting in the middle.

“Don’t have much practice at it, do you?” Nick arched an eyebrow over the top of his book.

“Excuse you, for all you know I have plenty of practice. I said I was trying because it’s your feet that are the problem. They’re too cold.”

Nick laughed, still peering from over the edge of his book. He pointed at me with his highlighter. “Warm them up, then.”

“Since when did your cold feet become my problem?”

“Um, since you just said they were? And because you’re the one trying to play footsie. I’m just an innocent bystander here, trying to get my reading done, and then you come here and attack me, wounding me both bodily and emotionally, and you prevent me from getting my work done.”

“I thought I was supposed to be the dramatic one,” I muttered.

“Maybe you’re rubbing off on me.”

“Exactly,” I said, stroking—or, okay, kicking—his foot with one of mine. “Rub. Rub.”

Nick rolled his eyes and went back to reading and I went back to basking in the fact that I was here again. I still wasn’t able to get into the city to see him as much as I would have liked—though to be fair, that pretty much would have required me moving in with Nick—but between Nick coming out to Jersey or me ‘going to the library with Aisling and Caden’ for the day, we’d made the past few weeks work.

When Nick had pointed out there was a protest in Washington Square Park today, and it might make a good excuse to come in, I’d jumped at the opportunity. Aisling had wanted to go anyway, and I’d even swung by the protest before coming here, so I hadn’t technically lied. Though I would be lying, shortly, since I was planning on spending the night here, and not ‘sleeping over at Aisling’s’ like I’d said.

I hadn’t been sure, at first, whether this invitation included me spending the night. I hadn’t done that since the first night Nick had kissed me. I tried to tell myself it was for obvious reasons—I couldn’t expect my parents to believe I was sleeping over at Aisling’s every weekend. But still, part of me wondered why Nick hadn’t asked me to stay over yet.

For all I joked about having experience playing footsie, the truth was, I didn’t really have any experience with relationships. At all. And I didn’t want to seem too needy, so it hadn’t been until last night that I’d gotten up the courage to text Nick and ask what exactly he had in mind.

And of course, as soon as I did, Nick was perfect about it, explaining that he’d hoped I would stay over, but he understood if I couldn’t.

NICK: I might have some coursework to get done this weekend, though. Got slammed with grant proposals during the week, and picked up an extra shift at Peachtree, so I have reading to catch up on. Will you be terribly disappointed if we just kinda hang out and read for a while?

ELI: Not at all :) I can’t believe I’m actually volunteering this, but I can bring some homework in, too. We can have a study date. We’ll get pumpkin spice lattes and wear chunky cable-knit sweaters and smell the spines of books at the library

NICK: I’m pretty sure February isn’t pumpkin spice latte season, but that sounds perfect

Pumpkin spice lattes and cable-knit sweaters at a library had turned into grocery store tea and sweatpants at Nick’s apartment, but it was, hands down, the best date I’d ever been on. There was only one problem.

“Hey, I thought we talked about this,” Nick said, putting his highlighter down and grabbing a spiral-bound notebook from the coffee table. “If you’re trying to warm my feet up, there are more effective ways than hammering them with your heels and breaking all my bones.”

“Oh, no, that time I really was kicking you.” I smiled innocently. “Just to get your attention, of course.”

Nick glared at me. “Don’t you have work to do?”

“That’s the problem,” I said, looking at him helplessly. “I’m done.”

“You’re done?”

“What can I say, you’re a good taskmaster.” I shrugged. “Besides, I’m getting hungry and I haven’t seen you eat anything since I got here, and that was like, seven hours ago. You need a break, and I need dinner. I’m sure that theologian you’re reading about has been dead for two hundred years. They’ll still be dead when you get back.”

“Three hundred years, actually. But you might have a point. What were you thinking for dinner?

“I don’t know. Food?”

“Helpful.” Nick kicked me back.

“Hey, you didn’t specify what kind of answer you wanted.” I gave him an injured look. “Besides, it’s cruel and unusual to kick someone when you have such cold feet. It’s like being kicked by a polar bear.”

“You’re going to give me a complex, you know. I’m going to start wearing five pairs of socks around you now.”

“Good. I’d hate to have to explain the mysterious frostbite appearing on my feet, otherwise.”

“Anyway,” Nick said, “for dinner, there’s a pita place around the corner that’s good and cheap, or if you’re willing to venture a little farther, my favorite pizza place does amazing slices that are the size of your face and their pepperoni could bring about world peace if more people just tasted it.”

“Both of those sound delicious. But they also sound like they require leaving this apartment. And in case you don’t remember, it’s negative twenty degrees Kelvin outside.”

“Or 38 degrees Fahrenheit,” Nick laughed.

“Same difference.” I glanced over at the kitchen. “I thought you were like, an adult or whatever. Don’t you have food we could cook?”

Nick sighed. “I think I’m about to disappoint you greatly, but I suppose we could take a look at the contents of my cabinets.”

The contents of his cabinets did leave a little to be desired. Nick, it turned out, wasn’t much of a cook, and he actually seemed a little embarrassed when I opened his fridge to find the remains of five different take-out containers, and a bottle of hot sauce.

“Sorry.” Pink spots bloomed on Nick’s cheeks. “I guess I never really took to cooking. It was something my mom used to do, and after the accident, my dad and I just kinda learned to subsist off of take-out. Are you sure you don’t just want to go out?”

“Don’t apologize.” I smiled. “It’s cute.”

It really, really was. And more than that, it made me feel a little bit more on solid footing. I might be younger than Nick, but I appeared to be far more capable of preparing actual food. With a little bit more searching, I was able to find a can of crushed tomatoes and a box of pasta in Nick’s cabinets. Rustling through the leftovers in the fridge, I found some roast chicken and decided to cut it up and add it to the sauce.

It was comforting, cooking in Nick’s tiny kitchen, the sound of the sauce simmering on the stove, the scent of tomatoes, basil and oregano filling the air. Nick cued up a playlist and the music drifted in from the living room, followed by Nick himself. He stepped up behind me as I was stirring and wrapped his arms around me.

I shivered in pleasure as Nick’s body pressed against mine. He wasn’t just taller, he was more muscular than I was too, and it felt safe, nestled against his broad chest. Nick’s nose pressed into my hair, then traveled down to nuzzle at the back of my ear.

I felt Nick’s lips on my neck for the briefest of seconds, another one of those almost imperceptible kisses that were the only ones Nick allowed himself around me. Later, when I was by myself and missing Nick, I’d wish Nick would rewrite his rules and kiss me the way I longed to be kissed—the way I knew he could. But right now, that ghost of a kiss, that grace of stubble and skin on the back of my neck, was perfect.

I closed my eyes and let myself settle back against him. Nick’s arms tightened around me and I blinked when I felt a tear trickle down my cheek. It felt like it came from nowhere, but suddenly my entire chest felt full of something I didn’t know how to express. Not sadness, not at all. Just… I realized that in this moment, I was happier than I’d ever been. That I was with someone who saw me, who knew me, and didn’t think I was too much or too emotional.

“Hey,” Nick murmured into my neck. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” I whispered. “Really, really okay. The okayest I’ve ever been.”