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"Definitely."
As we wait for our order, I find myself marveling at how effortlessly we fit into each other's lives.
"You know," I start, "it's amazing how quickly things have moved between us."
She looks up at me, her eyes meeting mine.
"Good or bad amazing?"
"Good amazing," I assure her. "Incredibly good."
She smiles, and I swear that smile could make any bad day turn good.
"Me too, Dennis. I feel like I'm exactly where I need to be."
The thought of her feeling the same way brings me peace.
"So, have you ever thought about what it would be like for us to live together?"
Her eyes sparkle as she takes a bite of her taco.
"Hmm, let me see. Your suits and my art supplies fighting for closet space?"
I laugh, "Or my legal briefs serving as coasters for your coffee mugs."
"Hey, my mugs are sacred," she quips.
"Ah, so what you're saying is we'd have a 'his and hers' coffee mug arrangement?"
"Exactly. And you'd have to learn to love my taste in wall art."
"As long as you can tolerate my need for an excessively organized pantry," I counter.
"That might be a deal-breaker," she jests, grinning at me.
"And let's not forget," I add, pulling her closer, "we'd have to negotiate who gets which side of the bed."
"Well, as long as you're on it, I'm not picky," she says, her voice tinged with a flirtatious note.
I pull her into a gentle kiss, the world fading away for that brief moment.
"Seriously, Lauren. I've never felt more sure about wanting to build something with someone."
She looks into my eyes, and there's a sincerity there that makes everything else pale in comparison.
"Me too, Dennis. I've never been so excited about the future."
As we stand here, in the middle of this bustling festival, it hits me—this is more than just a series of dates or a fleeting romance. We're creating a life together, discussing mundane things like closet space and coffee mugs.
And I couldn't be happier about it.
As we weave through the crowd, I feel a sense of comfort settling in.
"So, you're okay with me using your mugs, and I've accepted your wall art. What about kids? Can we agree they're not allowed to draw on the walls? I mean, unless we designate a wall for that."
Lauren laughs, but there's a catch in it, a millisecond where we both feel the weight of what I've just said.
"Sounds reasonable," she replies, "although, can we also agree they inherit your punctuality and my creative flair?"
