“What the fuck, Sarah?”

“What?” she asks, eyeballing me from her profile.

“Don’t you own anything?” I’m staring at the boxes that were shipped to my loft. There are only three.

Throwing her fists on her hips she faces me with a challenge. “I’m low maintenance. Would you prefer I have a shit-ton of shoes? Would that make you happy so you could categorize me in some box you have assigned for the human female?”

Laughing under my breath, I throw my arms up. “Alright! Fine. You travel light. I get it.” Lifting the largest one from where the U.P.S. guy left it, I groan under the weight. “Jesus, what’s in here?”

“Books.”

“Just books?”

“And three photo albums. Heave ho, buddy. Those muscles ought to be good for something.”

I chuckle, “Don’t make me laugh while I’m carrying the entire Detroit library here.”

She grabs hold of the medium sized box and drags it further into my loft, announcing as if she’s lived here forever, “We need shelves.”

Fuck, I am so crazy about her. The two weeks she was gone was fucking torture for me. We talked on the phone daily but as I told her multiple times, not being able to kiss her was a living hell. I’d just figured out how important she was to my happiness, and then she had to go and leave.

Because fighting with her is most of the fun, I groan, “Shelves? Why? They’re stupid.”

“Because, jerk face, my books need a home and…oh my God!”

I grin, lowering the box in front of a mounted bookcase I got for her. It was delivered today from Amazon while she was out buying two planters for the succulents she forced me to buy from Trader Joes on Monroe in Midtown. The girl went crazy for their flowers, but then decided to get something that would last longer. I told her there weren’t enough windows in the loft for the things. She insisted if they lived outside they’d survive. And then she borrowed my Escalade — alright, she stole it while I was napping — to get larger pots for the damn plants. And a good thing, too, because that’s when I got the knock on the door. It gave me enough time to put this shelf together.

Sometimes things just work out.

“Jason!”

“You like it?”

Her mouth is wide open and she’s shaking her head in disbelief. “I love it! This is probably the nicest thing anyone has ever done for me! Holy crap!” She runs over and hugs me as hard as she can, which isn’t very. Then she jumps back and admires the shelves with a huge grin. “Open the box so we can put the books on it right now! Oh my God, they’re going to be so happy with their new home!”

I’m laughing at her freak-out, and secretly very pleased with myself for coming up with the idea. During one of our phone conversations she’d told me how much she likes to read, and that the main thing to ship were her books. I logged on the ‘zon that evening.

Since I’m not making a move to unpack now, she rips the tape of the box to get started without me. I rush over, pick her up and spin her upside down like I’m going to shake her pockets for loose change. “Oh no, you don’t, Sarah. No books now. You’re not getting out of the family BBQ.”

“Put me down! I’m serious about the car sickness. I’ll throw up on you!”

Flipping her over and setting her down I hold her chin, smiling at her flushed cheeks. “Go get ready.”

“What should I wear?”

“They’ll have heat lamps, but you get cold easily, so how about those grey jeans and a sweater. Do you have one?”

Rolling her eyes she tells me, “Of course I have a sweater. I’m from Detroit. Your winters are summers compared to our hell. Why do you think we’re so tough?” Groaning and nervous, she goes back for the smallest box but I beat her there and open it with a couple strong rips. Digging in, she produces a brick red sweater that will look fucking awesome with her auburn hair. “This okay, Jason?”

“Hell yeah.”

Wrapping her in my arms I lift her off her feet for a long kiss. She responds with as much passion, slipping her arms around my neck.

“I can’t wait for you to meet my family, Sarah.”

“I’m nervous,” she whispers against my lips.

“You should be. They’re very judgmental.” Off her wide-eyed look, I laugh, “I’m fucking with you.”

Her little nose squishes up. “You’re not nice, Jason Cocker.”

“And you are?”