I sit cross-legged on the barstool at Mason’s countertop. The granite is cool underneath my arms as the battery of my laptop hums in front of me. The tapping of my fingertips against plastic keys echoes out into his empty kitchen as I write.

“Hey,” Mason says, calling to me from the front door. He walks in and holds a white plastic bag up, setting it on the counter. “Is Chinese takeout alright?”

As he approaches me, I smile at his tight brown corduroys and the gray sweater he’s wearing. Not saying it… but with his glasses? Total hot nerd territory. “That’s perfect,” I say, shutting my laptop. When he bends down for a kiss, I can smell the dark sandalwood of his cologne, and I realize how much I’ve missed him today.

“How’s the writing going?” he asks, heading to the sink to wash his hands.

Popping up from the stool, I grab two white plates from his oak cabinets and two matching sets of silverware. I still can’t believe how sophisticated and put-together his place is. Especially compared to my empty apartment. Though he’d helped me furnish my place with a full-size couch and a television, it still doesn’t quite feel like home there unless he’s with me. “It’s good. I sent Chris my write-up for that pop-up shop opening over by The Fishery. He said it looked good. Only a few editorial corrections.”

Mason turns and smiles at me. Pouring us both a glass of Pinot noir, he takes a sip of his and sets mine on the counter in front of me. “You think you’ll like our online media gig?”

Ever since the Stars Over Southport Music Festival, The Anchor’s online media platforms had been surging with newcomers. To keep up the momentum and grow their online presence, they’d hired me to write pieces for their online audience. This newer, millennial audience, to no one’s surprise, is a little easier to please on the emotional content front, so it’s a perfect fit. Shrugging, I lift the four takeout boxes from the bag and set them by our plates. “Not sure yet. I can’t quite give up my shifts at the Bean for it, but I’m enjoying it.”

“We’ll get you there,” he says, walking up behind me. He plants his arms on either side of me and presses his soft lips to my neck sending a shiver down my spine.

“You’re being flirty,” I whisper, turning to face him still locked inside his arms.

He grins something adorable, the light in his chocolate eyes making me want him. Taking me by surprise, he ducks down and starts kissing me with a crash of his lips on mine. His mouth tastes of spiced cherries and licorice from the wine, and in a brief flash of passion, he slides his hands under my thighs, hoisting me up to sit on the counter next to our plates. This brings us nose-to-nose, and I withdraw from the kiss with a smirk. “I’m a lucky girl tonight. What’s the occasion?”

Mason bites his bottom lip and rubs the back of his neck. “No occasion. I’m just happy to spend quality time with my wonderful girlfriend.”

Shaking my head, I furrow my brow at his words knowing I probably don’t deserve them. They sound beautiful coming from his mouth, especially now that they’re not just an inside joke. Now that I am his actual girlfriend. “Nothing suspicious then?”

With a grin, he holds his hands up in defense. “Promise. Though,” he runs a hand through his dark hair, “that does remind me. I have a surprise for you.”

“What is it?” I ask, squinting at him. I’m still apprehensive, though I’m not sure if he can read it in me.

“You remember our trip to Raleigh?” Mason asks, popping open one of the takeout containers of chow mein. He spins a fork, wrapping noodles around the prongs and, lifting it to my lips, feeds it to me.

“Yes, but that was— four months ago,” I say between chews.

Mason nods, taking his own bite of noodles. “And what were we doing? Do you remember?“

I blink at him, not sure of where he’s taking this. “Going to Beth’s birthday party. And the Sweet Tennessee concert.“

Suppressing a grin, he hands me my glass of wine. “No, I mean on the actual drive up. Do you remember what we talked about?“

Cocking my head to the side, I sip from my wine and eye him. He seems like a loose cannon tonight, and though I love it, I can’t quite figure out why. “Music, I think. Right?”

Finally letting his grin go, he takes my hand. “Come on.” Grabbing two boxes of takeout with some forks, he leads me to the couch. Settling in, he takes the remote and sets his huge television to a playlist of videos.

“What is this?” I ask, looking at him blankly.

“I compiled a playlist of our favorite music— the good and embarrassing.”

Scoffing in pure shock, I look up at the bright screen and see each song we’d nearly ever talked about in our first few months of getting to know each other. John Coltrane, the Boxley Brothers, Goo Goo Dolls, Spice Girls, James Taylor, Archie Bell and the Drells, Paul Simon, Sweet Tennessee, Iron & Wine. As we finish eating, we end up tangled in each other, me having climbed on top of Mason as we watch video after video of his thoughtfully curated playlist.

As I grow sleepy on his chest, Mason announces the last video to make sure I’m present for it. “It took me a while to find this one,” he says, kissing the top of my head. “But I thought you’d appreciate it.” He dons a goofy accent. “Brought to you by the letter—”

Before he can finish his introduction, I yelp in joy as the two-minute video of the Sesame Street version of “Jellyman Kelly” by James Taylor starts.

“Did you know he and his daughter wrote that song together on a car ride one afternoon?”

Shaking my head, I hum in pleasure. “And how would you know? Research?”

Laughing, he moves underneath me, so I sit up. “You know,” he says, standing from the couch. He heads back into the kitchen and returns within a few short seconds. “You can’t act like my research hasn’t ever come in handy. It’s saved the day on many occasions.”

“Saved the day? That’s a little much, Mason. But sure, it’s provided us with some great insight. I’ll at least give you that.”

“Here,” he says, tossing me a fortune cookie as he swings back around the couch to sit.

Catching it mid-air, I pop the wrapper open and watch him crack open his cookie. “What’s yours say?”

Holding the fortune up, he makes a weird face, his eyebrows drawing up in confusion. “You are a nerd and must not forget it.”

Bursting out into a fit of laughter, I reach over and push him.

“Geez, Ellie. Did you write this one?” he teases in a playfully offended tone.

“Stop it,” I laugh. “What’s it really say?”

Grinning, he inhales and straightens his face. “Your strength lies in your ability to be who you are. That’s a good one. No denying that.”

Nodding, I pat his arm, still not being able to pull myself from my giggling, though it could very well be the wine. “Yeah. Let your nerd-flag fly, babe.”

Reaching over, he grabs me and tugs me to his side of the couch again, tickling me until I can’t breathe for all my laughter. When I’ve finally settled down, he drapes an arm over me and makes me open my cookie.

My eyes tired from writing all afternoon, I squint at the red ink on my fortune. The words are blurred. “I can’t read mine. What’s it say?” I ask, trying to hand it to him. But he won’t take it.

“I’m not sure. My glasses are fogged. You’ll have to—”

Before I can call bullshit on his fogged glasses comment, the red text comes into focus. As I read it slowly, my heart pounds. I read it again just to be sure. “Did you do this?” Emotion wells up in the back of my throat making it hard for me to speak without breaking into a sob.

“What’s it say?”

“You know what it says. Stop,” I say, trying to keep the tears from spilling out of me. “How did you—”

“Read it to me.”

When I look up at him through watery eyes, he wipes an escaped tear that’s trickling down my cheek with his thumb.

“Please read it,” he smiles.

Taking a deep breath, I try to read it for him though he already knows what it says. “Fuck anything that doesn’t get your blood pumping,” I whisper. Looking at Mason with his smile of satisfaction, his eyes so full of love they could drown me in it, I feel a certain sort of adoration for this man that I’ve never felt for anyone in my life. This man who cares for me unconditionally. The way he looks at me like I’m the only person in the room, even when I’m not. This man who takes even the worst parts of me and doesn’t mind being with me despite my lows and my bad habits and my awful jokes. This man who gets my blood pumping, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.