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I laugh too. “Well, yeah. But we could even hit the gym and have smoothies later, if you want.”

“It’s Christmas,” Belinda says. “No, I want to eat all the snowball cookies and fruitcake and fudge. I’ll eat kale salad for lunch, and I’ll step up my exercise routine in January, but the holidays are for fun!”

I like her. I really, really like her.

Over the next week, I make efforts to set aside time to spend with Belinda. Sure, there’s still work to be done—but there’s always work to be done, and something tells me that if I want a girlfriend as awesome as she is, I need to prioritize her.

So we go to Night Howl at the small zoo atop Miller Mountain, and listen to the nocturnal animals’ noises. We go to Dickens of a Christmas and have cookies with mulled cider. She helps me choose a leather overnight bag for my dad’s Christmas present. I help her choose an array of yard tools for her grandfather.

And every moment we’re together, I appreciate her more.

For her gentle humor and emotional sensitivity, for her laughter, for her smile. For the sparkle in those ocean-colored eyes. For the way she fills out the ugly Christmas sweater she wears to go caroling at the nursing home with my mother’s Junior League. For the way she throws a snowball.

For the warmth in my chest when I think about her.

For the desire that burns me when she’s nearby.

Fuck it, I think this might be the real thing. I don’t want to rush it.

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