“I think that’s my line.” Jack laughs. “Ty said you texted and told him you were with Hannah.”

“Yeah, I am.” I tell Jack about my grandma’s scheme to get Hannah and me in the same room, and what’s happened between us so far.

“Do my parents know she’s there?” Jack asks.

“No, she gave her phone to Leah. She didn’t want to try to explain why she was visiting my grandma. She said her dad told her she could stay at Leah’s because of the weather. Are you home?”

“No, Ty picked me up from work. I’m staying the night here.”

“Nice.”

“We’ll meet you at Leah’s tomorrow around noonish. Does that sound good?” Jack asks.

“Yeah, that should be great. I’ll let you know if something changes.”

“Sounds good. Ford?”

“Yeah?”

“I’m glad you two are finally talking. Make this count.”

“I will. I promise.”

As I walk back across the driveway to the garage apartment, I glance at my grandparents’ house. I hope in fifty years, that’s me and Hannah. I should’ve talked to Hannah about the marriage license, but I chickened out. We’re taking things slow, so it’s something we can worry about and talk about another time. When I walk into the apartment, my nose fills with the wonderful smells of chocolate and cinnamon. “That smells so good.”

“They’re almost done. About two more minutes,” Hannah says, walking over to me. She takes the extra coat and hangs it up, then helps me wipe the snow off my arms and shoulders. “The hat you wore looked like it was going to crack to pieces, but your hair is dry.” She threads her fingers through it, scratching my scalp.

“Oh, that feels great,” I say, pulling her against me. I slide my hand down, squeezing her butt. “I missed you.”

“You were only gone fifteen minutes.” Hannah laughs. “But I missed you too.”

I lean down, nuzzling my nose against hers and giving her several soft kisses. The timer on the stove goes off, interrupting us, and we both sigh and let go. “Do you want milk?” Hannah asks. “Gigi brought up a half gallon with the cookies. It’s in the fridge.”

“Yeah, I’ll grab us each a glass.” I notice the TV playing, but there’s no sound. “Are you streaming this movie?”

“No. There’s a bunch of DVDs in the entertainment center drawers. Why?”

“Gigi told me the Wi-Fi up here isn’t very good. What movie is this?”

“Um—I’m not sure. It had dancers on the front, and it said it was a rom com, so I put it in. The case is sitting on top of the entertainment console.”

“At least it’s not Captain America.” I tease.

Hannah rolls her eyes at me. She dishes up the cookies, and I pour each of us a glass of milk and grab a couple of napkins. We sit everything on the coffee table, and Hannah grabs the DVD case. I sit down, pulling her onto my lap.

“It’s called Strictly Ballroom; and oh jeez, this movie is old. It was released in 1992. We can watch something else.”

“I’m good. Let’s watch it.” What I really want to do is drag Hannah over to the bed and pick up where we left off before my grandma showed up. But we will get there. I’m happy to hold Hannah while we watch a movie—or even better—make out while it plays in the background. About ten minutes into the movie, we look at each other and laugh. The movie is a little out there, but it’s funny.

“I’m going to use the bathroom.” Hannah kisses my cheek and gets up. When she comes back, I excuse myself and head to the bathroom as well. I open the medicine cabinet, pull out a new toothbrush, and brush my teeth. My grandparents always keep essentials up here for when family visits. When I get back to Hannah, I hold my hand out to help her up so she can sit on my lap again. She shakes her head no and scoots down so she’s lying on the sofa. I tilt my head and give her a sly smile. I crawl on top of Hannah, putting my hands on either side of her head.

“Hey.” I smile, looking down at her.

“Hey, back.” She laughs, threading her fingers through my hair and pushing it off my forehead. I let my eyes fall shut, and she glides her fingers along my cheek to my jaw. “I’ve missed this.”

“Me too.” I breathe. I lower myself, letting some of my weight settle over Hannah. This time her eyes flutter closed, and she lets out a contented sigh. She slips her hand under my shirt, rubbing her fingers along the side of my abs and around my back. I lower my head, kissing along her collarbone and neck, darting my tongue out over her healing hickey.

“Mark me,” she whispers, exposing more of her neck. “You have no idea how it felt to look in the mirror and see what you’d done to me.”