It doesn't take long for us to get into a routine after that homecoming weekend. Dr. Styles goes back to work and while Mrs. Styles is a homemaker, she sure seems to keep busy with the numerous volunteer and social activities with which she's involved. It's not uncommon for her to be out of the house for long stints each day, and that leaves Harry and me alone. A lot.

One afternoon, Harry is on the tail end of a nap so climb on his bed to wake him. "Come on lazy bones," I playfully nudge him. I can see that he's trying to pretend he's still asleep but he can't fool me, not with the dimple in his cheek fighting to make an appearance. I try to tickle him just under his arms and he sits up suddenly, grasping my wrists in his very strong ones to make me stop. Sometimes I forget how strong he is from walking around on those forearm crutches all the time.

Laughing, I lunge at him to try to kiss him but he blocks it with our joined hands, pretending he's miffed about the wake-up call. Without thinking, I sling my leg over his lap to get closer but he only tightens his grasp, shoving our hands down to our sides. As we're both laughing and I'm trying to regain control, I try once again to distract him by leaning in to kiss his perfect mouth. It works much too well and he kisses me back with unreserved fervor, releasing his hold on my wrists in the process.

The atmosphere quickly changes as our kiss heats up. I scoot closer to him, tightening my thighs around his hips. His hands work their way up my jaw and into my hair as mine sweep along the hem of his t-shirt. I've never been so bold before, but suddenly my hands are under his shirt, feverishly caressing the bare skin of his stomach, sides and his back.

Without even realizing it, we've ignited a flame that's not easily extinguished. His hands remain in my hair, one of them tugging my head to the side as his mouth releases mine and travels down to my neck where he places sloppy kisses along the tendons.

His name falls from my mouth in a heated whisper and he mumbles my name in return, refusing to tear his mouth away from my skin. My own level of desire reaches untamable heights when I realize how our hips are pressed so desperately together. Experimenting, I shift my pelvis and press down and a muffled cry bursts from his mouth. Realizing that I've actually given him some sexual pleasure does insane things to my body and my brain and suddenly I'm more eager than ever to find out what it will feel like for us to be completely unified.

But reality hits both of us in the same moment, it seems and we distance ourselves from each other, regarding each other with wild eyes and gasping breaths.

Hary takes a deep breath, closes his eyes momentarily and then opens them as he expels the breath. "Guess we got a little carried away," he observes, still panting.

"Uh huh," I nod, just a small part of me wishing we hadn't stopped.

"I'm sorry," he whispers. "But hey, only four months to go, right?" 

Suddenly my face is bright red and an embarrassed laugh falls in between my gasps. "Thank God." That makes him laugh, too and I echo his sentiment. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have let myself get carried away."

"S'okay," he smiles gently.

After that, we decide quickly that we have to set up some parameters to help us to make it to our wedding night without getting physical. We agree on at least one hard and fast rule: No visiting in each other's bedrooms. I'm not sure how couples manage long engagements without having sex. It feels impossible to survive the few months that we have until the wedding. In addition, having gone through the drama of almost losing Harry and watching him work his way back to normalcy, our emotions have both been heightened for a long time. Passion is a natural by-product of our intense emotions. One thing we add to our prayer list is for strength to remain pure until our wedding night.

Our life continues to pick up the pace. Harry registers for fall classes so that he can finish his last semester. He decides not to push himself for summer classes in case he's not ready. Besides, he will need the time to study for the Medical College Admission Test. He applies to three medical schools: Northwestern University, University of Michigan, and Mayo Medical School. I'm disappointed that he doesn't apply for the University of Wisconsin, but I'm glad his other choices are at least in the Midwest since we have a mutual desire to return to my hometown or his to raise our children.

Once the medical school applications are finished, Harry will be feverishly studying for his MCAT exams. He also still needs a lot of rest.

I decide not to enroll in classes yet. I don't want to do a few semesters here in Madison and then transfer to yet another college to finish my undergraduate degree. I will just wait and try to finish wherever Harry ends up going to med school.

So in order to not be alone with - and tempted by - Harry day in and day out, and to allow him time to study, I decide, instead, to pursue a part-time job. I had been thinking about it since I told Harry I was going to stay in Madison. He and his parents insisted that I didn't have to but I don't feel right staying with them if I can't contribute anything. Besides, it will give my parents peace of mind to know that I'm serious about pursuing a career since they're not crazy about me postponing school.

"Good morning, Mr. Styles," I say as I hand Harry a cup of joe early one day. I lean in to kiss him. I'm wearing my favorite navy blue pantsuit, the one with the peplum jacket. I have a pale pink dress shirt underneath, and my favorite pair of earrings.

"Same to you, future Mrs. Styles. You look super! Where are you going today?"

I sit down on the chair next to him in the breakfast nook. "I have an interview with Vernis Therapy Clinic today, remember?"

"Oh yeah," he nods, sipping his steaming coffee.

"I'm excited," I tell him. "It'll be a great opportunity to get started in the field. It's a part-time file clerk position, but I have to start somewhere, right?"

"That's great, Katie! You'll be perfect."

"Well, I don't have the job yet."

"You will." He sends me to my interview with a kiss.

"Hi, I'm Frederick Vernis." A tall, heavy-set gentleman extends his hand toward me. I shake his hand firmly and meet his gaze, just as my father taught me to do. "And this is Mary, one of our occupational therapists. She will be helping me conduct the interview."

I greet them with a confident smile, even though my insides are squirming around like I ate worms for breakfast.

"So, Katherine, tell us a little bit about yourself."

I try to keep it short, but I want to make sure that I mention my experience with my grandmother as well as my current situation with my fiancé. "I'm planning to study occupational therapy. I would love the opportunity to familiarize myself with a therapy clinic."

There are relatively few questions in the interview, and before I know it, I'm shaking hands with Dr. Vernis again, who assures me, "I'll let you know as soon as I've made a decision. It should be by the end of the week."

I don't have to wait nearly that long. My phone rings as I'm pulling into the Styles' driveway. It's Mary from the therapy clinic.

"On behalf of Dr. Vernis, I would like to offer you the job."

I race into the house, squealing.

Harry meets me in the entryway and throws his arm around me.

"Congratulations, Katie. I knew you could do it."

We fall into a comfortable routine over the next month. I get up early most mornings to run. When I come back, Harry is usually awake and starting his day, studying at the computer or hitting the books, cramming as much knowledge into his head as he can to prepare for his medical school entrance exams.

He goes to therapy several times a week. He's still recovering from three weeks in the hospital, and Dr. Carbondale is also pushing him to find out if the surgery restored any more of his ability, so he's been working hard on his walking, balance and overall mobility every day.

On my days off, I take him to therapy so I can see how he's doing and learn about ways I can help him at home. Some days are better than others. He hasn't regained all of his strength yet, and it's wearing on him. Even though Dr. Carbondale had told him his strength would gradually return, it's hard for him to keep encountering setbacks and to feel weaker than he was before.

One afternoon, his therapist Elsie and I get into a conversation about running. We start to talk about some stretches that I can help Harry with, and some strengthening exercises as well. I mention that I do similar exercises before I run, and soon we delve into a deep discussion about running shoes and times and races since she's a serious runner, one who has run marathons while I'm happy with a few laps around the neighborhood.

I notice that the conversation seems to bother Harry, so I try to include him in the conversation by telling his therapist, "Harry used to be a runner, too."

I turn toward him to try to add some encouragement. "Maybe you'll run again someday. We could train together for a race."

Elsie, however, doesn't seem too convinced. She suggests instead, "Or there are some really aerodynamic wheelchairs that Kate could easily manage while she's running." I widen my eyes in shock at her less-than-helpful suggestion, while Harry twists his mouth in an odd frown. I find it strange that she isn't more encouraging about Harry walking again. Maybe she doesn't know the whole story or perhaps she isn't familiar with Dr. Carbondale's work.

On the way back to Harry's house, I tell him, "I don't think she was serious about the wheelchair."

He quietly responds, "Yeah," and says nothing else.

Over the next few days, he becomes withdrawn. When I try to talk to him about wedding plans, my job, therapy, my parents, his parents, anything, he doesn't bite, and I can't seem to shake him out of his funk.

I know that Elsie's comment hit him hard but I'm surprised he's still so despondent. I hate to see him this way and to be honest, it scares me.

I take the opportunity to talk to him as he's eating breakfast one morning, before he retreats back to his room to study or whatever he does in there. I'm not convinced that he's been doing anything productive for the past several days.

"Harry."

He doesn't look up.

"Harry, we need to talk," I insist.

"About what?" He still doesn't look up. He's pushed away his plate and focuses intently on his coffee mug.

"You," I say. "Us."

He takes a deep breath and blows it out all at once. "Yeah. I'm not sure what to say." He pauses with no emotion on his face and then looks straight at me, uttering words that I never expected to hear. "I don't think I'm ready to get married."

* * * * *

Oh oh :(

Double update since I didn't want to leave you with a cliffhanger.