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He is mine.
This must be the highest high of living—loving someone so urgently and knowing they love you back.
43
Levi
Two months ago, I stopped being what my sister likes to call—a big dummy. I feel like that warrants a celebration.
I knock on Meredith’s door—feeling a little like a giddy kid the night before his birthday. She doesn’t leave me waiting or wondering—one of the many things I love about Meredith.
“Is it too much?” she asks, peering down at her black dress covered in white polka dots. It’s cinched at the waist with a shiny black belt and flares out at the skirt, a white ruffle underskirt peeking out from beneath. She is a vision.
My mouth tips up in a grin. Her hair has grown just an inch above her shoulders and it sways back and forth. Her cheeks are rosy and her lips pink.
She is perfection.
I shake my head, not able to speak for a moment.
“You look nice,” she says, forgetting herself and running her hand over the white collar of my dress shirt.
I peer down at my black slacks and tie. “You look incredible,” I say, finding my voice.
“Do I?” she runs a hand down the skirt of her dress. “It would help if I knew where we were going.”
“You’ll know soon enough,” I say, still standing on her front porch. I wrap one arm around her slim waist and pull her next to me. She may have to reapply her lipstick—but I’m okay with that. I drop my mouth to hers, tasting the sweetness that is Meredith.
I may never deserve Meredith—not for a hundred lifetimes. But then, I’m not sure anyone else will either. At least I know I’ll die trying to deserve her. I’ll bend over backwards making sure she has every experience she’s ever wanted.
She kisses me back, arms around my neck, and up on her tiptoes.
I use all of my willpower and break away from her. “Come on,” I say. “You won’t want to be late.”
Meredith tucks her hand in mine and we trot down the steps of her duplex townhome.
“Hey,” she says on the way to my truck. “Number three on your list.” She nudges my side before hopping up onto the passenger seat.
My list. Her idea. But I do have one now. Meredith has added as many items as I have to the thing. But number three—it’s mine: Move out of mom’s house.
I peer over, following her gaze to the FOR SALE sign hanging in the window of the townhouse attached to Meredith’s.
“You’d want me that close? I wouldn’t drive you crazy?”
“I’m pretty sure I could handle it.” She winks, her white tennis shoes tapping on the pavement.
Right next door to Meredith. I’m pretty sure I could handle that too. I’m tempted to tell her to break her lease and we’ll both move into the same place. I mean, as long as we’re living close, as long as we aren’t driving each other crazy… we might as well make itveryclose.
The moon is bright, lighting up the dark sky as we drive to Post Falls. We talk. And talk. And somehow, we never run out of conversation.
“Dad’s excited to meet you tomorrow,” she says.
“I’m excited to meet him.” And I am. While simultaneously terrified. Will Mr. Porter take one look at me and know I don’t deserve his daughter? Or will he see the man willing to die trying? Both are accurate.
It’s a big week. Meredith is visiting her father for the first time in months—and I’m going with her.
But first, the events of the week begin tonight–with my surprise.
I glance over at her, having pulled into the amphitheater parking lot. Does she see the sign? Has she figured it out yet?
