Over the next two weeks, I see Patrick a lot, but we don't go out. Instead, he comes over to my apartment or I go to his. We don't really do a lot, and there's no more of the flirting, but it's still fun. He's a good guy.

Sometimes, Andy or Joe will be at his place, and we'll hang out with them. They're pretty cool too. Andy's easy to talk to and we both like the same kind of music, and Joe's funny in a serious kind of way, if you get what I mean. I don't see Pete much; I think he and Patrick have had a falling out, but whenever I ask him what's going on, he won't tell me, and neither will Andy and Joe.

I end up keeping the ring, even though I repeatedly tell Patrick that I can't accept it, that's it's too expensive a gift. He tells me that it's no big deal, and that he just wanted to get it for me.

"Seriously, Lydia," he says when I try to give it back to him for the thousandth time, "It was a present, and you're my friend. I just want you to have it."

Honey rings a couple of times, but I tell her not to come over. I want to keep me and Patrick a secret for now. No offense to Honey, but she's the biggest blab in the state of Illinois, and that's putting it lightly. Not that Patrick and I are anything, of course.

On a Thursday evening, at about half past seven, Patrick comes over again. Whenever we haven't been together, we've been texting a lot, so we're pretty close, even though only a few weeks ago, I didn't really know him.

But tonight, something's different. Patrick's a lot more subdued than usual. Most of the time, he's fairly bright and bubbly around me, because I guess he feels comfortable around me. But he comes in without more than a "Hi", and sits stiffly on the sofa.

"Patrick?" I ask, sitting beside him. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing." I sigh and lean into him, my head on his shoulder. He appears to relax just a little bit, but it's still annoying. Just when I thought we were ok, he's acting weird again.

"Just tell me."

"I dunno. I guess I just feel low today." I raise and eyebrow and he shakes his head. We both know that I'm not buying that. "Ok, ok. Pete came over today."

I inwardly groan. "How was he?"

"Pissed." Patrick spits out the word, his already small form hopelessly collapsing in on itself.

"Why, exactly?"

"Look, it's complicated. Anyway, he's mad at me for almost no reason whatsoever."

"I doubt it's nothing. I think you two need to sort this out, whatever it is."

He snorts. "What's left to sort out? He hates me." His voice breaks slightly at the end of the sentence, his features contorted to hold back a sob. I put my arm around him.

"Everything's going to be ok, Patrick. You just need to talk to him. I'll go with you, if you like."

"It won't make any difference." He's crying now, properly. I hug him, like Honey did when Brett broke up with me, and whisper soothing things into his ear. I don't know what I'm actually saying; I'm just making reassuring noises, but that's all he needs right now. He puts his head on my shoulder, and I put my arms around him while he howls into my shirt.

After a long, long time, he resurfaces, looking apologetic. Before he can even start to say sorry, I say, "It's ok. Everything's going to be fine."

He wipes his face with his shirt sleeve and then gives me a strange sideways look. "Yes," he says slowly. "I think it will be."

We stare into each others eyes, his piercing hazel eyes staring unblinkingly into my brown ones. He's so lovely, both in personality and appearance, and we lean in...

"No!" I cry out, breaking away.

"What?" he asks, looking shocked. I've startled him, but I can't do this. Not yet.

"I... I don't think I should..." I stutter, but then I falter. He looks so sad and proud and beautiful, and I can't bear this any more. We lean in, and then our lips meet. His are trembling, but they're soft and full and thoroughly kissable. Then suddenly, we're kissing harder and he opens his mouth just a little bit, and I do too, our tongues dancing.

He puts his hands around my waist, and I copy him. He's pushing me down, and although he's probably getting carried away now, I don't care. All of a sudden, he's lying on top of me on the sofa, and we're properly making out now. We kiss some more, and when we pause for breath, I whisper, "That was incredible."

He 's panting slightly, but manages to say, "Thank you."

"No, I mean, you're really, really good."

He gives me an odd look, as though trying to suss me out, and then he says, "Want to do some more?"

"Hell yeah." So we do. At some point, it occurs to me that I really shouldn't be doing this, that I've only just broken up with Brett. Then I think: Oh what the hell. Patrick's a sweet guy.

After a long, long time, when the kissing somehow gets boring, he pulls back and smiles at me. I love the way he smiles. His eyes light up and his cheeks pull his lips into a curve. He's just so cute.

"What?" I ask. He just shakes his head. "No, seriously, what?"

"You're so beautiful," he whispers, gazing at me.

"I am not!" I say, indignant.

"You are. Don't deny it." I look into his eyes once again, and then I feel it for the first time, properly. I'm falling, and I love it. I'm loving this, all of it.