So, that’s basically all that happened,” I tell Bella at the coffee shop the following day. She’s sat, listening, eyes wide and mouth pressed together not out of irritation, but to keep her from whooping over the scandal of it all.

“Can I be excited now?” she asks in a squeaky voice.

“Feel free,” I say.

“Oh my god this is so hot!” she shouts, so loud that literally everyone in the coffee shop turns a confused head toward her. “Sorry!” she says, waving her hands. “My friend just has a crazy hot boyfriend and it’s really romantic.”

The people of the coffee shop clearly aren’t as impressed as Bella is, but it doesn’t seem to bother her. She leans over the table to me. “So are you like…a real official couple now?”

“Yes. I mean, I think— but it’s impossible to feel like we’re real and official when I know he’s leaving in ten days. All I can think about is things that are going to last longer than my time with him. I looked at the creamer when I got my coffee, and it expires two days after Heath is leaving town. Caramel non-dairy creamer is going to last longer than my relationship,” I lament, slumping back in my chair.

“No, no— it’s going to last longer than your current physical relationship. But he can write you, can’t he? And Skype?”

“Sure, yeah. I’m just scared that he won’t. It’s like I know this whole thing is real because I can see it, but it’s still so new that I worry once he’s gone, it’ll all crumble.”

Bella nods and closes her computer, and I’m fairly certain she hasn’t done an iota of work on since I sat down. “I know it seems impossible, Karli, but you’ve got to remember that people do this all the time. There are loads of military girlfriends and boyfriends and wives and husbands and children and everything in between. They get through it.”

“They didn’t meet two weeks before the deployment, usually,” I point out.

“Then just make sure it’s one hell of a two weeks,” she says with a sly look.

“Well, it’s ten days now—“

“You’re totally missing the point, Karli,” she says, shaking her head. “You’ve had sex what, three times now?”

“Say that a little louder, maybe?”

“Everyone’s got headphones on,” she says, waving her hand at the coffee shop. “So you’ve had sex three times. You haven’t gone on a romantic date yet, right?”

“No,” I say, blushing.

“And you haven’t gone on a trip.”

“No, of course not,” I say, frowning.

“And he doesn’t have a key to your house or vice versa—“

“What are you getting at?” I ask.

“You’ve got ten days to streamline a ten-month relationship. I’m just thinking of how you can get it done,” she says with a shrug.

I laugh. “I don’t know if you can streamline romance,” I say.

“Psh,” she says, waving a hand at me. “Besides, it can’t hurt to try, can it?”

She’s got a point.

“So,” Karli goes on, “go on a romantic date tonight. Somewhere downtown, one of those little restaurants that only tourists go to. The kind with string lights over the patio.”

“I’ll suggest it to him,” I say.

She shakes her head. “Nope— do it. Come on, Karli. He saved your mom’s life! You can at least buy him a romantic dinner.”

“He didn’t save her life,” I say, sticking my tongue out at Bella, but I like her style. I lift my phone and send a text.

Karli: Are you free tonight?

Heath: For you, of course.

I smile at how quickly he texted back— he really did listen to me last night, I guess.

Karli: Can I pick you up this time? Seven o’clock?

Heath: Sure? What’s going on?

Karli: We’re streamlining.

I muddle through the rest of the workday, then hurry to the nail salon to get a manicure for the first time in ages. I know exactly what I’m going to wear— it’s a tiny black dress that I got in college, when I thought I might be moving somewhere that warranted more cleavage on a regular basis than my tiny hometown. I don’t even know for sure that I still fit in it; to my relief, it zips up, though it’s certainly tighter than I remember. It’s not as if Heath hasn’t seen what’s under it, though, so I suppose it doesn’t matter.

I drive my still-front-crumpled car to his house, smiling a little as we pass landmarks that remind me of when I undressed in his passenger seat, of my legs up on the dashboard, of his hands between my thighs—

I bite my lip. I need to think of something else, and fast, because this train of thought is making my wet and I didn’t wear panties tonight.

Heath is waiting for me outside the house, and I can’t help but wonder if it’s so I don’t have to see his father. I assume Vic is home— there’s an old beater car parked on one side of the house, and a number of lights appear to still be on when Heath walks away from the front door. He’s wearing a tie, though no amount of formalwear can lessen the rugged vibe he puts out.

When he opens the door, the interior lights show him what I’m wearing, and he smiles in a somewhat wicked way. “Karli, baby. Look at you.”

“Thanks,” I say, smiling back at him. He has to practically fold himself into my tiny car, and for a moment I wonder if I should offer to let him drive. But no, no, this is my thing— I want to see it through.

“So where are we going?” he asks.

“To Monterey,” I answer. “It’s a fancy restaurant in town. I’ve never been, but supposedly it’s amazing. I just thought we ought to go on a really proper date once.”

“I like that,” he says, looking amused at my plans. “And where are we going afterward? Because you know that there’s no way I’m ending tonight without watching you take that off.”

I bite my lip in excitement as we turn onto the main road. “And after that, we’re going on a trip.”

“A trip?”

“Not much of a trip,” I say hurriedly. “But I have a friend from college with a mountain cabin about an hour and a half away, and she didn’t have any renters in it tonight. She gave it to me for a steal.”

Heath reaches over and runs a hand up my leg. “You’re amazing.”

“Thank you,” I say, smiling at him. His hand continues to creep up, and then he groans when he realizes I’m not wearing panties.

“Why not go straight to this cabin?” he asks hungrily.

“We’ll get there,” I say, grinning and swatting his hand away— even though I really like the way it feels, brushing between my legs.

“You’re killing me,” he says, but he still looks genuinely happy as we cruise into town. I parallel park near the restaurant. It’s in a part of town I never visit, simply because it’s all pricey boutiques and expensive food. Monterey is the town’s stock Valentine’s Day restaurant; it’s where everyone in a relationship goes on February fourteenth. It’s not crowded, but there are a decent number of tables full tonight, all with white tablecloths draped over them and candles flickering at their center.

Despite the fact that I drove, Heath jets around to my side of the car and, as always, swiftly opens my door for me before helping me out. As we walk toward the restaurant, he lets his hand drift down my back to rest on my ass cheek, which he squeezes lightly just before we step through Monterey’s front doors.

“We’ve got a reservation,” I say to the hostess, a girl whose brow piercings are totally detectable despite the clear rings that management has undoubtedly made her wear. “It’s under Karli Ackerman.”

“Got it,” she says, smiling cheerfully. “Could you follow me?”

We cut through the restaurant— or I do, at least. Heath has to carefully pick his way around chairs and tables, all of which he dwarfs. I see eyes flick toward him. Some people I suspect recognize him from the news— the war hero, the SEAL member, the guy who killed a terrorist and saved countless lives. Others, I suspect, just know he’s crazy hot.

We take our seats at a table by the window, and a waiter comes by to run down the specials, a list of complicated words that he recites seamlessly, almost like he speaks a very delicious foreign language.

“What sort of wine do you have?” Heath asks. I’m surprised— he doesn’t look like a wine drinker.

“That’ll be on this menu here,” the waiter says, leaning forward to take a smaller menu from beneath the larger dinner menu. I lean forward and nearly gasp at the prices. Heath’s eyes jump to mine, and I see humor flickering in his irises.

“This one,” he says, pointing, though the menu blocks me from seeing which one. “It’s our anniversary.”

“Well, happy anniversary!” the waiter says, smiling as I turn a happy shade of red. “We’ll get that right out to you.”

He vanishes and Heath reaches across the table, beckoning for my hand. When I place my fingers in his, he speaks gruffly. “It’s on me.”

“Heath, those were insane—“

“I haven’t had an actual living expense in years, you know. Besides, there’s no one else I’d rather spend money on. And it’s our anniversary, no less!”

“Oh yeah? How long have we been together?” I ask, playing along.

“I think at least a year.”

“A whole year?”

“I like this whole streamlining idea you had,” Heath says, and lifts my right hand up to his mouth to kiss it tenderly. I bite my lip, and sigh a little when he flicks at the inside of my palm with his tongue. It’s a tiny movement that surely no one else here saw, but a very intentional promise of where he tends to repeat that tongue flick later this evening.

The waiter returns with two glasses, pouring a sample of the wine for Heath to approve and then one for each of us to drink. We both order the special, which is some sort of fancy fish. When it arrives, I almost crack up at the expression on Heath’s face.

“What?” he asks, shaking his head.

“You can say it,” I tell him, still snickering.

He looks at me, narrows his eyes, then smiles. “This is tiny.”

“This is like, insanely tiny,” I agree.

“This is maybe a snack. Or an appetizer.”

“At best,” I agree, though when we dig into the meal, I discover that at least it’s delicious. We finish in record time; I think Heath went through the whole thing in about three bites.

“Just as well,” I say with a knowing look. “We’ve got somewhere to be.”

“Indeed,” Heath says roughly, and I’m pretty sure that hungry look in his eyes has nothing to do with those tiny portions.

When I ask for the bill, though, I’m surprised to see the waiter shake his head. “It was covered by another patron.”

My eyes widen. “Seriously?”

“Yes,” the waiter says, looking pleased. He turns to Heath. “He recognizes you from news reports on the mission in Yemen. The patron asked me to thank you for your service.”

Heath looks down, but then nods. “I appreciate that.”

When he walks away, I have trouble not looking floored. “That’s insane! With the wine, that was not cheap. Does that happen to you all the time?”

“No, not hardly,” Heath says with a short laugh. “It’s nice when it does. But it’s always…strange. Bizarre.”

“Why?”

He shrugs. “I don’t know how to respond. When someone says “thank you for your service”, in those words or paying for something, do I say it’s no problem? Because that’s not true. Do I tell them the gory or boring or dark details of what it entails? Nah. It’s just such a weird phrase, because it both begins and ends a conversation. They don’t even really know what they’re thanking me for.”

“Oh,” I say, staring.

Heath takes my hand in his again. “That’s not to say I don’t appreciate it. It’s just strange. It’s always strange. Vic says I’m overthinking it, that I oughta just order more beer on whoever-paying’s tab.”

I consider this, then shake my head. “You’re not overthinking it.”

He squeezes my hand. “Ready to go?”

“Absolutely, but I’ve got a request?” I say.

“Shoot,” he says, rising. We walk out of the restaurant hand-in-hand, and I almost forget what I was going to ask— when was the last time someone just held my hand?

“Karli?” he asks when I’m silent too long.

“Oh— can we stop in a drive-thru somewhere for second dinner on the way to the cabin? Because I’m starving.”

Heath laughs in response just as we’re pushing through the restaurant doors; the sound bounces down the street, warming the night.

“That sounds perfect,” he says, then pulls me forward, tilts my head back, and kisses me.