I snatch up the bag, and immediately, I feel my smile widen. “To Connecticut they go,” I cheer, raising the green M&M’s high into the air.

“Jorgen.”

Jorgen’s phone beeps again, and I send it flying toward him.

“Message,” I say.

He stops rubbing my feet to catch the phone with both hands. I watch him focus on the screen and read over the words. Then, I notice his eyebrows lift a little before he looks back up at me.

“What?”

“Oh, it’s nothing,” he says.

I shoot him a disbelieving look.

“It’s just Kevin. He says he remembers where he’s seen you.”

“Oh,” I say. “Where?”

He doesn’t answer me at first. His eyes are back on the phone’s screen.

“What?” he asks, sounding distracted.

I just stare at him.

“Where has he seen me?” I ask again.

“Oh. He didn’t say.”

His eyes fall from the screen and onto me before he sets the phone down onto the side table and presses his fingers into my feet a little bit more.

“Moberly’s not too far from here,” he says. “He probably had a crush on you when he was younger or something stupid like that, knowing Kevin. And I’m sure there’s a long, dramatic, drawn-out story that goes with it too.”

He looks back up at me, then scoots closer to me on the couch, puts his arm around my shoulders and kisses me softly.

“You want something to drink?” he asks, after our kiss breaks.

“Uh, sure,” I say.

He pushes up from the couch and makes his way into the kitchen. My eyes travel to the television, but my mind travels back to the message. I glance up into the kitchen. Jorgen is searching in the refrigerator. I look at the phone, then back at the television and then back at Jorgen. He’s still looking inside the fridge. I think about it for a second and almost hesitate before curiosity claims me and I lunge toward his phone and then quickly press the message icon. I feel a little like a stalker right about now. I mean, we share pretty much everything now — even our food and cars sometimes — so I trust him, but there’s something else in that message that he isn’t telling me.

Instantly, the screen lights up, and the message comes into plain view. I quickly force my eyes over the last sentence of the text: I need to talk to you about her. ASAP.

“Found it,” I hear Jorgen say from the kitchen.

I quickly set the phone back down onto the table and slide back to my side of the couch.

“It was all the way in the back,” he says.

I look up at him and catch him holding out the glass pitcher.

“Good,” I say, forcing a smile.

I watch him turn away from me again and start pouring our drinks. As Soon As Possible? My heart is racing. My thoughts are in overdrive, and all of a sudden, Jorgen is standing over me.

“Your tea, sweetheart.” He holds out a glass.

Sweetheart. He has never called me sweetheart before. The word kind of sticks to me in a way that feels strangely comforting, almost familiar. It almost kind of warms me somehow.

“Thank you,” I say.

I watch him sit down and take a swig from his glass. He’s in a tee shirt with Truman Hospital stretched across his chest in white letters. It’s a fitted shirt; though, I’m not so sure it would be fitted on just anyone. And it’s humid today, so his hair is extra curly, and his cheeks are a little sunburned, just like mine. We spent the rest of Sunday outside riding his bike and stopping at parks. God, I never thought I’d ever say that again. Though, I guess there are a lot of things I never thought I would say again, much less do. There were a lot of things, until this curly-haired, sunburned former football-player-slash-farm-boy came into my life and stole my heart without me looking.

“You know I love you, right?” I ask him.

I watch his gaze slowly travel back toward me before he rests his eyes in mine and then nods his head.

“You know I love you too, right?” he asks.

I lower my eyes before I meet his gentle stare again.

“Mm hmm,” I say.

His smile widens. “What are you doing all the way over there?” he asks, waving me toward him. “Get your cute butt over here.”

I shoot him a playful smirk. Then, I collide gently into his side and feel his muscular arm wrap tightly around me.

I feel safe here in his arms, and it makes my heart happy because the truth is that it’s been a long time since I’ve felt safe in the arms of someone I could call mine.

“Hey,” I say, setting my bag onto the wooden slats of the patio.

It’s beautiful outside. There’s a cool breeze in the air, but the sun is warm — a sign autumn will soon be here. I’m convinced that early afternoons like this were made for having coffee on The Coffee Cup patio.

“I got you your drink,” Amsel says, eyeing a cup of coffee sitting on the table. “Extra cream. It’s already in there.”

“Thanks,” I say, shooting him a happy smile.

“Well, it’s not every day I get to steal you away — and on a Sunday,” he adds.

He lets go of a wide grin, and it seems to take over the handsome features on his face. I get lost in it for a moment, remembering a different time, before I sit down and reach for the drink.

“How was your week?” I ask, taking a sip.

“Great, actually. We landed another client Wednesday.”

My eyebrows instinctively lift. “Anyone I know?”

“Probably.”

I start to smile again.

“Federhoffer’s Deli,” he says, before I even have a chance to guess.

“Wow! So, I can expect them to go national soon?”

“Honey, I can only hope,” he says, flashing me another wide grin.

I just watch him for a second then. The way his smile is so clever, as if it holds a million thoughts; the way his starry eyes light up; and even the way he seems to always be so confident, it’s so familiar, so comforting.

“I’m really proud of you,” I say.

I set my cup down and rest my hand on his.

He stops and finds my eyes. There’s still a smile hanging on his lips, but now it’s more of a knowing smile — one that understands.

“I know we were just kids back then, but the moment I met you, I knew you were a fighter — like you’d always make it through anything that life threw at you,” I say.

He laughs. “I had to be.”

I lower my eyes and softly smile. “True,” I say, eventually lifting my gaze to his again.

He holds his stare in mine for a little longer before he speaks.

“But no kidding?” he asks.

“No, really,” I assure him, nodding my head. “I always believed you were a fighter.”

“Really? Because I’ve always thought that about you, Logan — Ada,” he quickly corrects.

My smile fades a little but ultimately stays.

“It’s fine,” I say. “I don’t mind the name so much coming from you.”

He squeezes my hand before I notice his gaze fall to my ring finger.

“The ring,” he says.

I’m not sure if his statement is a question or just an observation. I pretend it’s a question, though.

“I wear it sometimes,” I say softly, lowering my eyes. “That doesn’t make me crazy, does it?”

After a moment, I slowly lift my gaze to his and catch him shaking his head.

“Deep down, we’re all some kind of crazy, Ada.”

I laugh to myself. “Good answer.”

He laughs too, but then the soothing hitches in his voice start to fade, and his familiar eyes spear mine.

“Someday, you won’t feel the need to wear it anymore,” he says.

I let go of a soft sigh. “It’s still hard sometimes to imagine a day like that,” I admit, looking at him now through hooded eyes.

I feel his hand squeeze mine a little tighter.

“Ada?”

Suddenly, there’s a familiar voice cutting through our conversation, and immediately, it stops me cold.