Love

"I think I'm in love with you."

I blinked.

Love? A few double dates, a basketball game, a box of Goldfish crackers, those were all well and good. But love? I wasn't sure.

We'd held hands, snuggled like so many good Mormons girls want to. We'd even kissed. Not the reckless, feckless high school kisses, but timid, polite kisses. The kinds of kisses that belied uncomfortable romantic history.

But I knew hers and she knew mine. She'd been dating feverishly since she'd been back from her mission, and I'd merely been testing the water since mine.

A week ago, she told me she wanted to "take things slow." But tonight she loved me?

I don't swear. But gosh I really wanted to.

I knew that there was a window in which I needed to respond. Too long in silence and that would be my answer. I wish there had been some kind of violent distraction, but it was just the two of us sitting in my car, quietly idling in her apartment parking lot.

It was cruel, it was cold, but I didn't want our casual relationship to be over. I was having fun. Not love, per se, but I felt like we were in a good place. We laughed a lot, went out to our favorite ice cream parlor, played frisbee with mutual friends, talked about a couples road trip with some old mission companions.

My window had shut. She was looking at me with a slightly concerned affection.

I opened my mouth, still unsure as to what I was going to say. I took her hand. I was trying to buy myself more seconds with body language cues.

"I...think I love you too."

Damn.