“No offense, Lex, but you came out of the womb ready for marriage. You would have married me, for god’s sake.”

“I would still marry you,” she said, totally serious.

They sometimes caught each other off guard like this, aiming the full light of their affection at the other when they least expected it.

“Oh, babe—” he reached his hand over to cover hers. “I love you.”

“I love you, too, and that’s why I need you to let me do this my way, even if you think it’s stupid. I’m really fucking nervous.”

“Okay then, I’m done being a brat. What’s the plan?”

“The plan is that he’s not home—”

“He’s at the Statue of Liberty,” Paul cut in.

“Correct. And I just have to stop by their place to drop off the textbook I borrowed.” She couldn’t help but smile, giddy with her own scheming. “Dev’s going to let me in, and I’ll go drop the book and the letter on his desk.”

“Wow, you’ve really thought this through.”

“And he’s going to arrive home just in time to get ready for Guy’s, meaning he’ll have the perfect amount of time to sit with the letter before we see each other.”

“Or he will not notice the letter on his desk, and then you’ll spend the whole night wondering why he’s ignoring you.”

“That won’t happen.”

“I mean, let’s be clear: it absolutely could happen.” He leaned back on the couch, stretching his arms and neck before continuing. “No one does a full inventory of their desk every time they leave the house.”

“He does.”

Paul breathed in deeply, willing away his usual frustration at Alex’s headstrong behavior. He knew that when she wanted to do something, there was no convincing her otherwise, and she had learned to allow him his moments of vague disapproval before inevitably getting on board.

“So what’s in the letter? I know you’ve been dying to get my take since lunch.”

“Thank you for asking.” She smiled, unfolding the pages she’d had resting in her lap. “I would love to hear your opinion. But be honest with me.”

He walked over, plucking the wrinkled paper from her hands and clearing his throat with a dramatic flourish. “Okay, let’s see what we’re working with here: ‘Dear Danial—’ a little formal, no?” He looked up from the paper, tilting his head.

“Please shut up.”

“You said to be honest!” He paused, waiting for her to match his encouraging smile before understanding that this was, indeed, not a joke.

“Okay, okay.” He continued:

“Dear Danial,