It was perfect, and we put an offer on it that night.

We didn’t move in right away. Diane was superstitious and didn’t want to live together before we were married.

“We can wait a month,” she said.

I pointed out that we’d spent almost every night together since we met, but she wouldn’t back down. She wanted us to be married first.

If I said it made sense to me, I’d be lying, but you do what you do for love. In the end, taking a step back to catch our breath turned out to be a good thing. Up until then, things had been anything but slow.

The first time I saw Diane was at a reading Doug had arranged at the university. I’d published a short novel with the university press earlier that year, and I was being considered for a teaching position. Doug thought a reading would cement the deal.

Normally, I would’ve jumped at the chance, but not this time. My father had just died of a heart attack in prison a few weeks earlier, and the last thing I wanted to do was get up and read in front of a crowd. I tried to back out, but Doug was insistent, so I went along.

The reading went fine, and after I’d finished, I stuck around to sign copies of the book. Diane was one of the first to come up. She told me how much my story had touched her and how it’d given her the courage to let go of her past and start over again. She said the book made her feel like anything was possible.

We talked for a few minutes, but I don’t remember a word of what we said. What I do remember is the easy way she brushed a loose strand of dark hair from her face, tucking it behind her ear in one smooth and fluid motion, then smiling up at me in a way that I knew would change everything.

It was impossible for me to pretend I didn’t notice.

I signed a few more books that night, and talked to everyone who came up, but I kept looking for her. And when the crowd thinned and people drifted away, she was still there, waiting for me.