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“Say something. Please.”

“Where do I even start?” I ask honestly.

“You never told me why you and Natalie…” Maggie starts. “I mean, I heard some of the argument that day, but you didn’t tell me why you two ended things the last time, if it was your idea or hers.”

“Natalie gave me an ultimatum too, and she didn’t like my decision.”

“What was her ultimatum?” I ask.

“Either you had to move out of my house, or we were done for good.”

“Oh. So, you did break up because I showed up?”

“It wasn’t just that. She also accused me of having feelings for you.”

“What?” Maggie’s voice goes up several octaves. “That’s just…that’s ridiculous.” She adds a fake laugh to try and make it sound more authentic.

“She was right, Maggie.”

She stares up at me like the floor just disappeared beneath her feet. Her lips part and her entire body goes still in my arms, I’m not sure she’s breathing. Eventually, she manages to say, “You…you have feelings…”

“For you. I have feelings for you too,” I admit, honestly. And if feels like I’m being set free. “I thought even if that wasn’t obvious before I bought a house near your favorite beach three years ago, one with a spare room just for you, that it would be after everything that’s happened this week.”

“Wait. You moved to Wilmington for me?”

“You know I don’t really like the beach. Or I didn’t really before the other night.”

“And you bought a two-bedroom house so…so…”

“So you would have somewhere to stay when you came to visit. Or if you broke up with your boyfriend…” I explain. “You finally came to stay with me. But now you keep talking about moving out like this was all temporary to you, like you’re already halfway gone.”

“I’m not. I just wasn’t sure how you felt. I wanted to give you space after everything this week…”

“How could you not be sure? Did the past few days feel like nothing special to you? Because it was everything to me.”

She smiles and says, “It was everything to me too.”

“But?” I ask, since I could hear it in the pause that followed her statement and I hate it.

“But you don’t do relationships. Commitment. Marriage. Or living together,” she says in a rush.

I brush a strand of hair behind her ear, before I respond, trying to figure out how to say what I need to say so she can understand my recent epiphany.

“I didn’t believe in those things because I had never seen a couple who stood the test of time, who meant the vows they said,” I explain to her. “I’ve never been a fan of weddings because of the devastating fallout of divorce that typically follows it. I told you before that my mom married four different men before I could legally drink. I was ten the first time she got engaged, and I knew then it wasn’t going to last. And I was right. Each divorce was worse on her than the last, like every one destroyed a piece of her.”

“I understand why that would make you so anti-marriage. Having someone take something that’s supposed to be forever and turn it into a heartbreaking routine made you not want any part of it…” Maggie trails off.

“It did. Her history and the work I do every day, seeing the fallout, it’s all taught me that the people you love the most are the ones who can hurt you the worst,” I tell her. “But with you, you’ve been my best friend for ten years, longer than any of my mom’s marriages lasted. No matter how many weeks or months we went without talking or texting, I was always thinking about you. And when we did see each other, it was like no time had passed. We were right back where we left off, always on the same page, like nothing, not time or distance or other relationships could ever come between us.”

Maggie nods her agreement to that.

“I may not have any trust in relationships or marriages lasting, but I have trust in you. The only thing better than having you as my best friend would be getting to love you the way I’ve wanted to for years, to love you back the way you love me,” I tell her honestly. “Please don’t move out. I like coming home to you, having dinner with you. Bringing you ice cream that you have a love/hate relationship with. If you’re going to move out of the spare room, then I want you to move to my room with me.”

Tears fill her eyes as she blinks up at me. “So…are you saying that you want to be my boyfriend?”

“I want to be your real boyfriend. No more fake bullshit.”

“Good,” she replies with a sigh of relief.