The 'really close friend' impression is dashed extremely easily one day, when Annabelle trudges through the door with someone in tow. Now, this action surprised me, because it had become my custom to attack back-hug her after sliding across the kitchen tiles in my fuzzy socks when she gets home. It really puts a damper on your 'allow me to remind you what a bundle of joy I am by being amazing' mood, because I'm sure she wouldn't appreciate that being her students' first glimpse of her home life.

So instead of crashing into my loving and understanding wife, I crash into the (unloving and non-understanding) door outside the kitchen and attempt to not make a noise.

"Haze? I'm home!"

I give myself a light slap on the cheek before taking a breath and revealing myself. "Hey, love."

"Um," Annabelle says eloquently, trying to appease the awkwardness radiating off of the small (smaller than me) boy who I assume is one of her students. "Sammy, this is Hazel."

He looks up at me and offers a genuinely terrified smile.

I grin back at him, unsure of how to convince him I'm not about to dangle him in a pit of lava and feed him to my crocodile-sized pet owl.

"Hazel, this is Sammy. I'm helping him out with a website he's designing for a contest that's next week."

"Alrighty."

"We're just gonna be in my study."

"Okay. Sammy, are you gonna be staying for dinner? For the night?"

His eyes widen, and he runs a hand through his dark blonde hair. That kind of looks like he stuck his head out of a window while Annabelle was driving too fast (I've had it happen before), but somehow it looks good on him.

Unfair, but okay.

"I wouldn't want to impose -"

"Nonsense," I laugh. I know exactly how it feels to be so uncomfortable in someone's house, to not want to request anything in fear of coming off as anything except polite. "The recipe makes too much for just Annabelle and I anyways."

He shifts, and his hands grab at the straps of his backpack, which is hitched high on his shoulders. This kid is adorable.

"A-alright then. If you're sure." I beam at him. Success.

Eventually they gravitate towards the living room, which I can understand. Annabelle's study isn't anywhere near big enough for two people.

Unfortunately so, this means I have to turn down my music, because it may have been a little distracting.

(Read: Annabelle told me to turn it down because "I can't even hear myself wondering why I married you," and even though one gets used to such remarks, she wouldn't have been able to hear my offended sigh if I hadn't turned it down. I did hear Sammy snicker, though, which made me wish Just One Yesterday was a little louder.)

I still glare at her playfully when we sit at the table, steaming bowls of chicken and dumpling soup in front of all of us.

"This is really good, Mrs. Lev-Damore." I had always brushed off the people who said such formalities made them feel old, but wow that makes me sound like I'm forty-seven and have two kids.

"Hazel," I correct. He kind of reminds me of a nervous bunny, but I keep that to myself.

"So what's this competition I've heard absolutely nothing about?"

I almost wish I hadn't asked, because a lot of words I don't know come spewing at me. Oops. At least he seems more comfortable around me now that he knows what he's talking about.

Annabelle laughs behind her fist at my bewildered expression, but I flick her forearm and pout. It does nothing to stem it, but hey, at least I tried.

Later that night, when they've just finished the last touches on whatever he had to do (I still have no idea what it was), I come into the living room with my laptop. Sammy's standing in front of the bookshelf.

"You read Hazel Danell?"

My heart sputters to a stop. I look up at him for a good fifty-two seconds, expression absolutely shocked.

Sammy looks a little bit scared, and it only grows as I start smiling.

"Oh my God. Oh my God, this is wonderful! Oh my God."

"What?"

"I wrote that! I'm Hazel Danell! I mean, not anymore, I published that before I got married to that loser in there!"

His expression slowly lightens to mirror mine.

"She's my favorite author. You're my favorite author? I'm in my favorite author's house, I'm talking to you. Oh my goodness."

"Hold on," I say, jumping to my feet and sprinting to the kitchen. I come back with a tray laden with a plate of cookies and two mugs of coffee. "I don't know how you take your coffee, but I made these earlier and Annabelle doesn't like them, and I really should not be eating them all."

I place the tray on the footrest and pat the spot next to me on the couch.

He turns red. "I have your book in my bag. I ... might kind of bring it with me everywhere?"

Oh goodness, what is this feeling? There's a sense of pride and overwhelming affection and I'm just so touched by this.

My eyes are not tearing up. They are not. No, no, nope. I'm not gonna cry in front of my wife's student. I'm not gonna cry in front of the first person besides my family who's read my book not because I wrote it.

Yes I am.

"I think you signed it, actually."

That makes me look up. Wipe away the tears that were streaking my cheeks (subtly, because I am smooth like a ninja snake) and shoot Sammy a confused look.

He grabs his bag and thumbs through it until he pulls out a book. My book.

Opens it to the front cover, and that's definitely my handwriting.

Hey! I just wanted to say that whoever you are, you can do it! This story started off as three bullet points during class and look at it now! You are unique and anything you do is a gift to the world. Take care of yourself. - Hazel

"That helped me a lot," Sammy says, voice quiet.

"I have ... goodness, I have a picture of me writing this! Annabelle!" And with that, we're both brought back into real life, where Annabelle is the one bridging us together.

"What?" she yells back.

"My friendly, helpful wife. You remember when we went to the bookstore after I first got published and I wrote in one of the books there and left it?"

"Vaguely."

I scoff at her, and roll my eyes. Turning to Sammy, "Deliberately unhelpful, it's like this isn't a life-changing moment for us." He cracks a smile, and I do the same.

"Where's the picture we took?"

"I have no fricking clue, Hazel."

I huff, and push myself off the couch. There's a box of Polaroids on the bookshelf, it's most likely in there. And even though I have to get on my tiptoes to reach it, which is frankly embarrassing, it's worth it because what are the chances this would happen?

We sit there, going through all of the pictures. I offer the stories behind the ones I can remember, and for the ones I don't, we make up a background. The cookies slowly disappear, and the coffees need refilling twice. (Decaf the last two times, though.)

When he finally comes across the picture of me at the bookstore, I had forgotten our original purpose. It seemed he had, too, because it took him a second to grab his book again.

We stay up even later, because he wants to ask me questions about my book and I want to hear what he thought about every part of it and when Annabelle passes by into the kitchen, she smiles and shakes her head before sitting next to me and curling into my side, adding in little comments when she feels it necessary.

It's the most fun I've had in a while. (Not to say, of course, that being with Annabelle isn't fun, but I haven't had a second opinion on my book in ages, and from someone so interesting.

Sammy doesn't look it, but he can play a mean game of poker (something I vow to test him out on some other time) and he crochets.

"Tell you what," I say, clapping a hand on his shoulder in a lull in the conversation. "Come back here anytime you want. I need someone else to try out all my recipes on. And I need to see if your poker claims are true."

Annabelle nods her agreement, and Sammy lights up. "Thank you!"

And when I finally turn in for the night, I hear her say "We meant it. You're welcome here, anytime. Haze likes you a lot. And so do I. Spare bedroom's down the hall to the right when you're done with your homework. If you need anything, don't hesitate to ask."

Much, much later, I roll over on my side to face Annabelle. It's quiet, so I can't help myself. "Can you hear yourself wondering why you married me now?"

I hope Sammy doesn't wake up from the resounding thump that I make after being harshly and undeservedly pushed onto the floor.

a/n: ok but i smiled so much while writing this?