Year One

prologue

"So... North Carolina, huh?"

"North Carolina," Spencer breathed out slowly.

"You think you're ready for the South?" Olivia asked, holding the flat sheet against her chest as she turned onto her side. The idea of her Crenshaw born and raised boyfriend roaming the streets of anywhere but LA was a foreign one. Atlanta was the closest she had ever gotten to his new state, and she hated to admit that when it came to the southern part of the country, she had never really cared to venture much further east.

"I'm ready for the food that I most likely won't get to eat," he chuckled. The sheets ruffled under his weight as he mirrored her position. "But North Carolina is like the edge of the South, baby. It's not like the Deep South."

Olivia hummed. North, south. Deep, shallow. It didn't matter. The east coast felt worlds away.

"What are you thinking about?" Spencer whispered. There was an underlying hesitancy in his tone, as if he had an inkling of what was on her mind but wasn't sure if he wanted the confirmation.

She smiled. This was the first time all week that he was truly relaxed. "Nothing. I just can't believe this night finally happened. You worked so hard."

"Remember what we've been planning, Liv," he said, easing the worries she chose not to articulate. "What we've been building." Under the sheets, his hand slid to her waist, tugging her closer.

She nodded into his chest as his warmth enveloped her. A long time ago, she read somewhere that long term romantic partners' heartbeats synchronize when they're close to each other. It seemed silly at the time, but now, the low thrum, keeping perfect pace with hers, was her primary source of calm. When they were together, it was never off.

"It's you and me," he continued, "building our life together."

Olivia smiled into his neck. Life. Singular. He never said lives, because in his head, his and hers were intertwined as one.

Little seventeen-year-old Liv, high and mighty on her feminist horse, would die at the sight of her right now. But little did her high school self know that the following summer she'd meet a guy who was worth knocking down her pride for. Just a teensy bit.

"A big house with a dance studio... an art studio... a writing room," his words tickled her ear, and another smile tugged at her lips. He knew her so well. "With big windows in all of them, so there's always natural light for my baby to create her magic."

The two of them were so different. He was regimented. Routined and disciplined. He knew what he wanted. He spoke of their lives as one, with no ifs, ands, or buts. She... was four months away from her senior year of college and still had no clue what she wanted to do with her life. One day, art seemed like the way to go. The next, dance. Then she'd remember how much she hated the controlling world of professional dance, and the freedom of writing would call her name.

Thankfully, her indecisiveness didn't phase him.

"And some babies."

An immediate eye roll knocked the daydream out of him. "One baby," she warned, over-enunciating because he always seemed to lose his listening comprehension skills around this part of the fantasy. "We'll have one baby, and maybe a dog. That you'll walk. Because you know, you like getting up early and all that."

"How about t—"

"Nope."

His lids continued to grow heavy despite her renewed alertness, his fingers inching their way down her hips. "Fine," he murmured, his silky voice working in tandem with his nudging thigh to bring her energy down. "But we're coming back to this."

She nodded absentmindedly as his lips against her pulse sent her eyes rolling back, their conversation forgotten.

They had two months before he was off to start the next phase of his life without her. So guiding his face to hers, she met those soft, pillowy lips she loved so much. He smiled. She giggled. And before she knew it, he was sliding their intertwined fingers over her head, his sturdy frame moving languidly above hers.

How she was going to get through a year without this man. His touch. His pulse. She had no clue. But feeling the slow, rhythmic beating in his chest, the tempo she knew better than any other, she knew he didn't have a single doubt in his mind, and that was enough for her.