I’d heard that before and witnessed it firsthand with Vada and Luke last spring. But to experience it live and in person is pretty ridiculous. I can’t help wondering if this is how it always feels to like someone or if Micah and I are special. I mean. We aren’t. But why would you settle for anything less than this? Less than electrically charged glances and earth-quaking butterflies in the region of your heart? Less than static touches and full-fledged swoops in your belly?

What would even be the point?

I sometimes wonder if he’s ruined me for anyone else. Which, admittedly, is pretty effed up. One, we’re days into our unofficial relationship. Slow your roll, Hennessey, and all that. And two, the entire idea that a single person has that much power over you, that they could ruin you forever, taint you and stain your existence with only a kiss, is disgusting.

No one can do that. I once saw a tattoo on a girl’s arm that read WRECK ME, and I immediately wanted to take her to church. That girl needed Jesus stat. No, ma’am. No wrecking will be happening here. Don’t be stupid. That’s the opposite of romantic, if you ask me.

So yeah, I put that whole “Has he ruined me?” idea to bed and tucked it in forever. He hasn’t ruined me for anyone.

But I still hope with all my hopes that I won’t ever have to find out for certain.

Which is surely why I am hiking up a mountain in the middle of the night armed with only a flashlight.

It’s got to be true love. There’s no other plausible explanation for this madness.

I trip over a tree root, and Micah steadies me with a warm hand on the small of my back.

“You all right?”

“Peachy,” I huff out. “How many stairs?”

“Another half dozen sets,” he says. I swear I hear amusement in his voice. His very-clear-and-not-at-all-out-of-breath voice. “We’re about halfway up.”

I let out a squeak as I trip again, this time on the bottom step of the next set of wooden stairs leading up the side of Sugarloaf Mountain. Which Micah assures me is a misnomer. It’s not really a mountain. Just a really, really big hill, roughly a thousand feet above sea level. Easy-peasy mac-n-cheesy.

“I told you, you’re better off without the flashlight,” he reminds me. “The moon is plenty bright once your eyes adjust, and you won’t trip on every root that creeps up on you.”

“Pretty sure the best way to avoid tripping on tree roots is to hike in the daylight,” I grouse.

“Come on, Meg, where’s your sense of adventure? Isn’t this your gap year?”

“You just love to remind me of that, don’t you?”

“And you love to complain when I do.”