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Emaline’s head tilts curiously to the side. “You can cook?”

“No.”

Confusion crinkles her forehead.

“But I could learn?”

Amusement bubbling pushes me to keep on.

To get it.

See it.

Fuck, have I missed seeing it.

“And you know how to teach…” Hunger fuses with playfulness. “Don’t you, Teach?”

The faintest whimper hitting my ears lets me know Lady was right.

I’m exactly where I should be.

I did my duty.

Now, time for the booty.

Yeah.

It wasn’t the classiest shit she’s ever said, but I focused on the message.

“The uh…” the maroon bouquet of flowers fumbles around in my grasp during the explanation, “flower chick-”

“Florist,” quietly corrects the fuzzy pink, panda bear pajama wearing, woman of my dreams.

“-said that these are calla lilies and that they get their name from the Greek word kallos which means-”

“Beauty.”

“Of course, you know that shit,” I warmly praise. “I really like that you do. That you know words and what they mean and when they don’t mean what people think they do like in poems.”

Longing returns to her stare, yet she presses her lips together rather than speak.

“Um,” uncertainty tries to clog my throat, forcing me to push it down in order to continue, “calla lilies have deep ties to traditional shit and that makes me think of Misfits ‘cause we have deep traditions – including one that says we fight for what we believe is ours.” Closing the small gap between us and winding my free fingers around the nape of her neck abruptly cuts off her breathing. “And I’m prepared to fight for you, Emmerz.” The tightening of my grip occurs in tandem with my forehead gently pressing against hers. “Whoever. However. Whatever I gotta do to be with you.”

The hitching in her breath shuts my eyes. “H-”

“You’re meant for me, baby.”

Another whimper appearing gives me the last bit of courage I need to continue.

“And I’m meant for you.”

This time there is no audible response.

Just her lips.

Against mine.

Firmly.