"It's only half mine," she says, twisting to kiss my wrist. "Co-author discount means you owe me"—she pretends to run the numbers—"seven dollars."

"How about seven minutes in heaven instead?"

She rolls her eyes, then pulls our book, People Watching, out of my back pocket and admires it tenderly. My heart skips, seeing it in her hand: a collection of her poems alongside my sketches. I can only hope that it will be the first of many, many wonderful things we will make together.

A few weeks after Prue became my girlfriend, we fell into a routine.

I'd watch the shop in the mornings, she would care for Julia and Tom, and one of the townies who volunteered to help us would drive Tom to the hospital a few towns over for his treatment every few weeks.

In the afternoons, we'd close the shop for an hour to eat lunch and, when possible, I'd paint with Julia as Tom rested and Prue worked up front.

Shortly after that, we both realized that we weren't getting as much time together as we used to. Most of the time we were so tired after we'd gotten her parents squared away for the night, we'd fall asleep without so much as a good night whispered into the dark. It scared us both.

Prue was worried that I was taking on too much responsibility in her family unit way too fast, whereas I was worried about what would happen between us if she tried to take more on.

We had to find a way to connect that wasn't just texting each other or sneaking in make-out sessions in the office between our respective workplaces.

That's when Prue told me about the diary she and her dad used to keep at the shop. The little stories and poems they'd write to each other about the customers who had come in, and how it brought them closer together. We agreed to give it a shot. Only, I'm not much of a writer.

So, instead of notes or poems, I started leaving Prue sketches to find under the desk.

In return, Prue would take those sketches and let her imagination run free, writing each of them an accompanying short story or poem.

It became our way of speaking with each other and creating art, even amid the chaos—which we'd so desperately needed.

On the especially hard days, it became a lifeline between us.

Prue would leave poems riddled with self-doubt, worry, heartache, and grief that would let me know her mother had a particularly hard morning, or her father had received less-than-positive news from his medical team.

Whenever those came, I'd leave her drawings of how I see her: strong, beautiful, capable, and filled with love as she goes about her day.

The tender holding of her mother's hand in hers.

The light in her father's eyes that never, ever subsides when he talks with her.

The laughter she pulls from each of my nieces and nephews whenever they'd stop by.

Other times, our exchanges were love letters. Filled with lust, inside jokes, or apologies. All in all, the first six months of our relationship became fairly well documented.

A month or so ago, Sef got hold of our notebook—probably because Prue showed it to her after they shared a few too many glasses of wine—and she managed to convince us to get some copies printed to sell at the store.

I'm not sure anyone will actually buy one, to be honest. But, if they do, we've decided to save up the money we make and go on a holiday together. Prue is ready now, if only for a week, to lean on our community to care for her parents so that she can take some very well-deserved time off.

I'm proud of her for that, for discovering how leaning on others is a sign of strength, not weakness. I'm proud of myself too, if I'm being honest. I've made a real life here, somehow. One that I could never fathom running from.

Things aren't perfect. They're far, far from it actually…

But it's a good life.

"You are so deep in thought, I almost don't want to interrupt…

" Prue says, curling her hand around the nape of my neck.

"But we do have a wedding to get to." She smiles, attentive eyes looking into mine and bringing the world to a pause.

I love that about her, how she creates moments of stillness that make me feel as if I've never existed anywhere else. "You all right?" she asks me.

"Yeah, I was just thinking about this…." I take the book from her and tuck it into my back pocket again before placing one hand on her waist. "Us…" I look over all my favorite parts of her from head to toe as my fingers tuck underneath her chin and my thumb sweeps the side of her jaw.

"You…" I kiss the tip of her nose. "All of it."

"Aww," she teases, "feeling sentimental today, gorgeous?"

I pull her in, holding her as close to me as I can as I bury my face into the wild tendrils of her hair.

"I'll take that as a yes," she mumbles against my chest.

"I love you," I tell her.

"I love you too," she replies, relaxing against me. "Mmm. This is a good one."

"The hug?" I ask.

She nods against me.

My phone buzzes in my pocket for what must be the tenth time.

I think, fondly, of the group chat and all the people we know and love rallying to make today special for Tom and Julia.

I let myself daydream, for admittedly not the first time, about what it would be like to plan a wedding for Prue and me.

"We should do this again someday, don't you think?"

"Hug?" Prue pulls back to look at me, her crooked brow making me smile. "I can probably pencil you in."

"No, Killer…a wedding of our own."

She blinks up at me, visibly confused. "Really?"

"Don't look so surprised."

She laughs, shaking her head before her eyes veer off, shyly avoiding my face. "That's a bit of a crazy thing to say!"

I laugh too, bringing her focus back to me. "What? Why?"

"Because we've only been dating for like…six months?"

"And?"

"And because we've been in crisis mode for most of that time…"

"And?"

"And because we have no money…"

"An—"

"Do not say and again!" She covers my mouth with her palm, giggling.

"Milo, you can't be serious. " Her brows pinch together, that adorable line forming between them that I love smoothing out so much.

"Oh my god, you are serious." I nod, my lips still covered by her hand.

"I love you, you know that, but a wedding…that's big. " She moves her palm to cradle my jaw.

"It is big. And it's what I want someday. With you . Is that all right?"

She runs her hand down my chest as she bites down on a giddy smile. "That's more than all right, Milo."

"Is that a yes ?"

"It's a someday yes, yes. " She shakes her head once more, glaring at me playfully. "You are—"

"Madly, deeply in love with you." I scoop her up in my arms, bringing our faces close together. Prue closes the distance between us, kissing me with a sweetness that quickly turns heated. We break apart a few minutes later, panting and riled up but uncontrollably smiling.

"If the Milo I met out there that first windy day could see you now," Prue whispers. "Mr. Commitmentphobe is long, long gone." She kisses me again as I lower her to stand on her own two feet.

"I think he'd be happy for me."

"Oh yeah?"

"Yeah, I think so. He'd never met anyone like you, Killer. He didn't know how good life could be."

"So…when I am ready for that someday yes …"

"You know where to find me."