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“No,” I say sheepishly and shake my head to try and disperse the panic. “Look at me. I’m gross right now. And you can’t look in the closet in the back of the house, ever. But eventually you will and then you’ll know. You’ll know that I’m secretly sloppy. My linen drawers look like a family of raccoons live in them. I can’t fold a fitted sheet. And you iron yours.”

“To be fair, I send my sheets out. It’s a decadent luxury and totally annoying, but I do it every week.”

I put my hand up to him. “But you could fold one.” He nods.

I put my hands on his shoulders. Time to come clean. “Ok. If you want me, you should know we’ve tried. We can’t, so we just shove them into the drawer. Ethan and I watched a YouTube video on how to do it and I still can’t. And we only do laundry, like, twice a month. We both own way too many clothes that are usually in piles scattered around the house, and I don’t do dishes the moment I’m done eating. I’m exhausted from pretending I have my shit together, and you’re going to see all of this, and you’ll leave me. You’ll go because I’m not who you thought I was.”

I flop down on the front hall bench. I stare at his knees; they won’t judge me. Then he squats down.

“First off, can we close the door, it’s criminally cold.” He closes the door and looks back at me. “And second, all of that is the most romantic thing you’ve done yet.”

“What is wrong with you?” I ask.

“A lot, and I can’t wait for you to discover it. As great as it is that we know each other so well and the connection is instantly so deep, there’s the flip side. We don’t get a honeymoon phase. We don’t get those moments of thinking the other person’s flaws are cute and hiding the fact that we fart in our sleep. We don’t get to pretend we eat vegetables with every meal and that I don’t know who Erika Jayne is. And for the record, I’m so #teamerika, and I love Rinna, too.”

Holy shit. He actually watches The Real Housewives, not just knows them as a cultural reference. This brilliant and very traditional man knows who Erika Jayne is.

“RHONY?” I ask.

“Fucking hate Ramona and Leah needs to get her shit together.” I squeal and leap up. “Now I know you’re a secret slob holding together an image. Do it for everyone else. Not us. Ethan and I don’t care about whatever these silvery smudges are on your face. I love doing dishes. I got you. And let’s send the laundry out on me. And as for that closet—it will drive me crazy, so I’ll tackle it when you’re at work. But I would never leave you because you don’t know how to organize a pantry. Give it up, Bella. You’re stuck. I get to see all the grub. I want to. I love you. I love you so fucking much.”

He pulls me up and I pull him outside. I kiss the hell out of him out of Ethan’s view.

I say, “You really do. You love me.” And those tears take a sneaky turn from panic to happiness. “I love you so much, too.”

“Great. You can wheel me around in a wheelchair when they amputate my frostbitten feet and nose.” I laugh. “Just tell people it’s from when I climbed Everest and not from standing on a Chicago stoop in January.”

I laugh harder. “Hot chocolate?”

“I do like Swiss Miss.”

I shake my head and roll my eyes. I take his hand. “Um, not in this house, dammit.” I fling open the door and yell, “E, he just asked for Swiss Miss.”

Ethan groans. “Not in this house, dammit.”

“Language warranted,” I exclaim, and Ethan meets us in the hallway as Liam rubs his hands together to warm them up.

He gestures to Liam. “Come. Get a notebook. You’re going to want to learn the steps to making hot chocolate good enough for the two of us.”

Ethan leading Fletch into the kitchen for a homemade hot cocoa tutorial warms my heart as my body defrosts. Then I remember what the kitchen looks like.

I wince as I hear Fletch say, “Oh my God. When’s the last time you people did dishes?”

Ethan responds, “Tuesday, I think.”

“Out!”

“But cocoa.”

I cross my arms and lean on the archway leading to my kitchen. It really is a mess. “Later. I have work to do.” Ethan shrugs and joins me as we watch Fletch remove his sport coat, and tie, and roll up his sleeves. He looks under the sink, then at us. “Where are the dish towels?”

We both burst out laughing and point toward the giant pile of laundry in the living room.

“Get out of my messy kitchen! And go cycle the laundry.” We both groan as he scolds us.

Ethan squeezes my arm and says, “He can stay.”

I grin and approach Liam. He’s flustered at the mess, and I attempt to help. He whirls me around in his arms. I smile at him. I pull his head down, my lips on his ears.