The flowers, the balloons, the Sister B pep talk, the home office overhaul—they were beautiful gestures. Showing me how much you wanted me, and how willing you were to change your life for me.”

I look down at our joined hands. “But they also made for an offer I couldn’t refuse. No woman could. And I think part of you believes that you manipulated me into moving in with you. That if you hadn’t pestered me and laid it on so thick, I never would have chosen you.”

“You wouldn’t have.”

“See what I mean? And that’s just not true. It may have taken time for me to trust you again, to believe that you were ready for a relationship, but I would have. I still would have been in love with you and wanted a life with you, because of who you are. Not because of the things you did for me. This will fix that, Drew. So you’ll never doubt why I’m with you.”

he takes his hand back and rubs it over his face. “So . . . you want to pay for an apartment, pack up all your stuff, buy furniture, go to all the trouble of relocating . . . just to prove to me and to yourself that you can? Knowing that at some point, you’re just going to move back in with me anyway?”

“Well, when you put it like that, it sounds ridiculous.”

“Yes! Thank you. Take out all the psycho, emo-babble bullshit and it is ridiculous!”

“No—it’s not. Because, later, when we decide to live together again, we’ll be on equal footing. It won’t be you making room in your life for me—it’ll be us making a decision together. For all the best reasons.”

he looks away toward the door, thinking. Then he turns back to me. “No. I’m sorry, Kate: I want to make you happy, I do. But I can’t support something that’s so pointless. I won’t agree with it.

I won’t. Just—no.”

he crosses his arms and pouts. Like a two-year-old refusing to move until he gets his way.

There was a time, not so long ago, that his refusal would have swayed me. That I would’ve let his opinion become my opinion. That I would’ve given in for the sake of our relationship and my sanity.

But not anymore.

I stand up. “I’m doing this, Drew, with or without you. I really hope it can be with you.”

Then I walk down the hall to the bedroom.

I stand in the middle of the room for a few minutes, remembering.

Some of the most wonderful, and romantic, moments of my life have taken place in this room.

I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t going to miss it.

But I’m firm in my belief that my moving out will be good for us. That, at some point, it will make the difference between us crumbling under the weight of our own passion and stubbornness or becoming an even stronger pair than we were before.

I just wish Drew would see it that way.

With a sigh, I move to the closet to get my luggage. I only took one small bag with me when I left a week ago, so there are a lot of clothes to be packed. I spot the large beige leather suitcase on the top shelf.

Walk-in closet shelves really weren’t designed with the petite in mind. I stretch on my tippy-toes, trying to grasp the handle. I consider getting a chair from the other room, but I try jumping for it first.

As I bend my knees for my second attempt, I hear Drew come up behind me. he reaches over my head, easily taking hold of the suitcase, and brings it down.

“You shouldn’t stretch your arms over your head. It’s not good for you . . . for the baby.” he walks out of the closet and lays the suitcase on the bed.

“how do you know that?” I ask as I trail behind him.

he shrugs. “When Alexandra was pregnant, I read a lot. I wanted to be prepared in case she went into labor at a family function, or if we got stuck in a cab together during rush-hour traffic.”

he unzips the bag and adds, “I would’ve had to gouge my f**king eyeballs out afterward, of course, but it would’ve been worth it.”

I smile.

he takes me by the shoulders and sits me down on the edge of the bed. “Just . . . put your feet up. Rest.”

Then he turns toward the dresser and takes a stack of my T-shirts out of the drawer, placing them neatly in the suitcase. he doesn’t look at me as he works.

“You’re helping me pack?”

he nods stiffly. “Yep.”

“But you still don’t want me to move out?”

“Nope.”

“And . . . you still think it’s a stupid idea?”

“Yep. You don’t have many stupid ideas—but even if you did, this would be the dumbest of them all.”

he takes another pile from the drawer as I ask, “Then why are you helping me?”

he drops the pile in the bag and makes eye contact. And his face says everything that he’s feeling—frustration, resignation . . .

devotion.

“In the last two years, I’ve probably told you a dozen times that I would do anything for you.” he shrugs. “It’s time I put up or shut up.”

And this . . . this is why I love him. I suspect it’s why you love him too.

Because despite his faults and flaws, Drew is bold enough to give me everything he’s got. To put his heart on the chopping block and hand me the ax.

he’ll do things he hates, just because I ask him to. he’ll go against his instincts and better judgment, if it’s what I need. he puts his well-being, his happiness, second to my own.

I stand up, wrap my arms around his neck, and press my lips to his. A moment later, my feet leave the floor and his hand buries in my hair. his mouth captures my moan as he presses me closer.