6 months later...

Seth and I have been on a total of twenty-two and a half dates. That half one is my fault. Long story, but it has something to do with my mom and an impromptu skiing trip. It wasn't pretty. She actually knocked out some teeth, and I've never laughed so hard in my life. To see a fifty-year-old woman missing her two front teeth—yes, definitely a moment you wouldn't want to miss.

Now, my interpretation of a date might differ from others. Some of ours have just been a quick drink together, or a meet-up in the park for a walk, but I still count them and he knows it.

I'm beginning to grow impatient though. It's been months and he hasn't attempted to go beyond hand-holding even once. Since the day in my dorm, my lips are lonelier than ever. Like, good grief, does he plan to wait until our wedding night? I have these fantasies/nightmares where my lips physically stretch off of my face and start chasing him around until they eventually smash themself against his mouth. It's extremely disturbing, but oddly a little bit sensual too. I end up spending the rest of the day aching for the teeniest of kisses from him. And yet... nothing.

And yes, I have finally conjured up fantasies of marrying the guy. I mean, who wouldn't? We've been sort of dating for almost six months now. Technically, it might not be official. In my head, we're dating, but I'd never verbally say that because we've never really talked about it.

Well, tonight is going to be date twenty-three, and I plan to glam my way into his heart. If this slinky black dress and ankle-snapping heels don't make his heart race, then nothing will. I just have to get his heart racing fast enough for it to jump up into his brain and start kicking some sense into him.

Seriously, boy! Want me! I need you to want me!

I've just spritzed myself with something Emma swears to me will entice any man—and this one doesn't smell like his mom—when there's a knock on the door. I nearly dump the whole perfume bottle onto my dress in my haste to set it down.

I'm a disaster—internally—because I can't get control of my thoughts. They're rattling out possibilities and 'what-ifs' all because I decided it'd be a grand idea to reveal my emotions tonight. I told myself that if he doesn't make a move by midnight, then the ball's in my court. I plan to knock him off his feet with the most heart-felt confession ever known to man.

But then I open the door, and that idea sinks to the very depths of my butt.

It's not a bad kind of sinking, though. More like a 'hurry up and vanish' kind of sinking. I need that thought to vacate the premises immediately. I'd chuck it right out of my head if I could, but that's not physically possible. So, instead, I stuff it someplace deep so that I can retrieve it later if need be.

But, from the looks of it, I won't be needing it.

Because, standing before me is a man—I'm assuming it's Seth, though I can't see his face behind the mammoth-sized bouquet in his grasp. He peers around the side of the garden in his hands and offers a warm smile.

"Thought you deserved these," he says, holding the armful of sunflowers out towards me.

No joke, I literally have to wrap my arms around the thing. Not just my hands... my arms! It's that big. I'm not a crier, but I could almost cry at how touched I feel right now. Sunflowers are my favorite. Like, I believe God made sunflowers for my enjoyment alone. No one feels the kind of passion for sunflowers that I feel. They're just so tall and elegant... and their petals match my hair. We're basically twins.

"I was going to get you a hundred-and-seventy sunflowers, but even I couldn't carry that many," Seth tells me. "So, I figured this would be the next best thing."

I glance down to eye the numerous tiny white buds of baby's breaths tucked between the sunflowers.

"Why a hundred-and-seventy?" I ask, stretching my neck to see Seth over the top of the bouquet.

"Well," he answers slowly, taking a step into my dorm room, which forces me to stumble backward. "There are twenty-three sunflowers—those count for every date we've been on, including tonight's—"

"How do you know I won't canc—"

"Shh, shh, shh," he reprimands softly, ignoring my weak threat. "Twenty-three sunflowers to represent twenty-three dates, and—"

"Twenty-three and a half."

"Shh," he calmly shushes again, "and then one-hundred-and-forty-seven baby's breaths to make up the difference."

"The difference of what?" I'm beginning to feel as though this is a riddle that doesn't have enough clues to figure out. I'm lost. Entirely.

"The difference of a hundred-and-seventy."

Oh! Okay! I get it now... Not!

"How is a hundred-and-seventy significant?"

"Because," he says, taking the flowers from my hands and setting them on my bed. "It's the number of days we've been together."

Wait... what?

"Hold on a sec," I mutter, my brain too overwhelmed to function properly. Instead, I pull my phone out of my bra and punch in a combination of numbers. "So, then," I say, eyeing the three-digit number staring at me from my screen, "you're counting our very first date as day one?"

He nods. "Yes."

"What exactly do you mean by 'together'? I inquire.

"Just that," he answers. "Together. Friends. Besties."

He suddenly drops to one knee, and I nearly explode into a buzzing circus of adrenaline. I swear, if my skin wasn't so good at holding me together, there would be tiny Mercy particles dancing around this room.

Don't you dare propose. Don't you dare propose. Don't you dare propose.

I'm chanting these words over and over in my head. There's no way I could say yes to marrying a guy I'd never technically dated. Though, if truth be told, I'd definitely, one-hundred percent, without a shadow of a doubt, positively say yes at this very moment if he did happen to be proposing.

"Will you, Mercy Nicholson," he pulls his hands from behind his back, and I nearly wilt into a noodle on the floor when I spot the sunflower in his hand, "be my girlfriend?"

Upon closer inspection, I'm made aware it's not a whole sunflower. With this realization, I'm now actually falling to the floor in a heap of hysterics. Because in his hand is a flower that's been cut directly down the center. It's the flower that represents our 'half' date.

Out of blurry, humor-filled eyes, I watch Seth chuck the half flower to the side and move beside me. The feel of his fingers digging into my sides has me both sobering and laughing at the same time.

"Answer me," he demands and laughter billows from my lips.

"Stop!" I beg, dreadfully hating this moment. And yet, his fingers continue to assault my ever so ticklish stomach. "Stop now, or I'll say no!"

He instantly stops, but he doesn't remove himself from on top of me. Instead, he continues to hover, his hands placed on either side of my head as he watches me with twinkling eyes. His breathing is slightly uneven and I wonder if tickling me really got him out of breath, or if it's the close proximity that's making him breathe heavily.

"So," he prods, "Will you? Be my girlfriend?" His face is suddenly serious—hopeful. I can almost feel his nerves twitching in fear of rejection. So, to ease his mind, I slide my hands up his chest, stopping just over his rapidly beating heart.

"Yes," I say softly, feeling his pulse stutter in relief. "Absolutely, yes."

"Geez! Way to make a man squirm." And then his mouth is on mine.

It's not like our other kisses—the one I initiated in hopes of getting his attention or the ones we shared out of an urgent need to prove something. Those had been magical, but this one? This one is real. Nothing about it feels like a dream. It's palpable and honest. I'm not flying around in an ecstasy-filled fantasy. Rather, I'm melting into a sea of passion. I can sense my heartbeat in my lips as they graze his own. I can feel the stumble coating Seth's jaw, offering a mysterious shadow to his distinct features. I can taste fresh citrus on his tongue, making me question why he tasted so dang good.

Everything about this moment—from the way he cups my jaw, to the way his breathing matches my own—is absolute perfection. I never want it to end, but end it does. He pulls away hesitantly, his half-lidded eyes gazing into my own.

"Wow," he says around soft pants, his lungs still fighting against the adrenaline in his system. "I almost loved that kiss as much as I love you."

I freeze, morphing into a solid block of ice beneath him. Even my thoughts freeze. I'm just staring—unmoving, unblinking. It's too fast. It's all too fast. And yet, I've been waiting to hear those words for ages. He just told me what I'd planned on revealing to him at midnight.

With a gush of air, I sigh the most dramatic sigh my body has ever created. I'm beyond relieved that I didn't have to be the first one to say it. Gosh, the anxiety and sweaty-palm inducing fear that I'd been preparing myself for has instantly vanished. Now, I get to say those three little words without any possibility of rejection. And yet, I continue to let Seth fret over my response. He deserves it though. Making me wait this long before sharing his feelings deserves some form of punishment.

"Seth," I whisper, watching his eyes narrow slightly, his muscles bulging with the strain of holding himself above me as he awaits my reply. "What did you just say?"

I actually expect him to look startled. I want him to feel worried by my question, but I see no sign of doubt. Worry doesn't even seem to be a possibility for him. Instead, he just smiles. It's a knowing smile, which makes me wonder why he's so flippin' confident. He should be peeing himself right now. But instead, he just pushes himself up and sits down beside my sprawled form. Leaning back casually, he rests his body weight on his palms as he eyes me.

"I said," he begins, lifting one hand and skimming it over my cheek, "I love you."

"Since when?" I question, eyebrows scrunched in playful impatience.

"Since day negative seventy-eight."

"Wait. What?" I'm instantly pushing myself up into a sitting position, my head dipped as I frantically do the math in my head. Eventually, I resort to Google to help me figure it out and my eyes flash to Seth. "That was... that was the Christmas party!"

He just nods.

"You've known you loved me since the ugly Christmas sweater party?"

"Yep," he verifies. "I caught you staring and there was something in your expression that made me realize I didn't see you as just a friend anymore. And then you kept hugging me all night, and I found myself actually longing for them." He pauses and my eyes drift to meet his. "It was so powerful. I found myself purposely running into you that night just so I could hold you for those few sweet moments."

"Wow," I say in a hushed voice, not entirely sure how to even respond to such mind-blowing information. All this time. All this time that we could have been together. What in the world took this guy so long?

"Why'd you wait so long to do anything about it?" I decide to ask aloud.

He shrugs. "Wasn't really sure yet. Besides, I needed to know it was real. I'm not wasting my time on something I don't think is worth the time."

"I'm honored to be worthy of you," I murmur robotically, bowing my head toward him.

"You're a dork," he laughs.

I grin at him, like a child staring at the world's largest candy cane. "So, you love me, huh?" I wiggle my shoulders, a giddy excitement squirming through me.

"Yeah." He just nods, glancing at his lap for a moment before peering back up at me. "How long have you loved me?"

"How did you know?" I nearly gasp, but my shock instantly turns into a glare when I see the smirk on his face.

"I didn't," he confesses proudly, "but I do now."

I huff in annoyance. "And that's how you wanted me to tell you?"

"Honestly?" He asks and I nod. "I don't give a flying crap nugget how you tell me, I just want to hear it."

"Well," I say, pushing myself off of the ground until I'm on my feet towering over Seth. He gazes up at me, hopeful. "That's not going to happen. I refuse to tell you that I love you for the first time just because you want me to." I shove my hands onto my hips. "I might not be the most romantic person on the planet—wait, scratch that—I might be the most unromantic person on the planet, but gosh darn it, when I say those three words for the first time, I'm gonna make you melt into your shoes."

Seth only laughs in response, reaching a hand out so that I'll help him to his feet. Once I've pulled him up to standing, we wordlessly head towards the front door. I'm relieved my dress remained in place during Seth's tickle attack, and I'm even more impressed at my ability to get up off the floor without flashing any hopeful eyes. As we make our way down the hall towards the elevator, a question comes to mind that I can't help but ask.

"That flower," I say, pointing over my shoulder towards my dorm room door. "The one that you cut in half?"

He nods for me to continue.

"I know you're no magician," I tell him. "So where were you hiding it?"

"Actually, I am a magician, and a magician never reveals his secrets."

"Pfft," I scoff, slapping him on the butt. He barely even flinches at my bold action. "You were hiding it in your pants, weren't you?"

"Yep."

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Only 1 chapter left!!!! How are you guys feeling about the story? Anything you love or hate about it that you feel I should know about? Don't hesitate to share. I can't improve as a writer without honest feedback. :D