The Coordinates of New York

Chapter Two

We walked through the door of my small apartment.

"So, this is it," I said, unamused. She looked around, not showing any emotion. It was really hard attempting to read what she was thinking, and I was slightly terrified.

She looked around at the plain white walls, all of the flowers that my mom loves to decorate the house with, and the small kitchen. The kitchen was pretty much attached to the living room, there was only a small doorway and a change in the flooring. It went from carpet to hardwood floors.

She smiled, "It's lovely."

She would be the type of person to describe something as lovely. She's lovely, and she has a great vocabulary. Not that it's a complicated word or anything like that, it just matches her personality; saying lovely instead of something like nice or pretty. I probably don't make any sense, to be honest. Nothing was making much sense anymore, to me at least. Other than everything that she is.

I grabbed her hand and led her to my room. Not for what you might think (I don't work that quickly), only to show her around. I opened the door, and she glanced around. The first thing she noticed was all of the books that I'd been reading.

"I've read all of these books," she said, referring to The Picture of Dorian Gray, The Catcher in the Rye, and a few others.

I blushed, "I know. That's why I picked them."

She looked into my eyes and then kissed me.

"Sky?" she asked. I was actually kind of concerned at this point because she looked breathless.

"Yeah?" I replied. She looked up.

"I... I, um—damn it. I think I love you," she said, and gazed down, running a hand through her hair.

I walked over to her and lifted her chin with two fingers.

"I don't think that I love you, Alivia," I said. She looked scared. "I know that I do."

There, there's the smile that I love.

"How long have you known that?" she asked.

"From the first moment that I looked at you. Everyone says that love at first sight isn't real, that it's made up and an excuse for saying 'I love you' to someone within the first week of being intimate with them. Everyone says you can't tell that you love someone just by looking at them. I didn't believe it either, until I looked at you; I looked at you, and I just knew that you were the one that I was supposed to be with. Something just clicked into place," I said.

She blushed. "You're SO cheesy, oh my god. But I wouldn't change a thing about you. I'm a reader as well as a writer, I live for the romance in novels," she said. I chuckled.

"Well, I guess you could say we're the authors of our own story," I said, and she smiled.

"There's the cheesiness that I love, again," she said "I love you more though," She looked into my eyes and pulled my chin up, "I definitely love you more." She looked into my eyes and kissed me.

"I could get used to this," I said. She giggled. Well, that was adorable, I thought to myself.

"Come on, we should get ready for the party," she said.

"Fine, I guess," I muttered.

"Something wrong?" she asked.

"I kind of just wanted to stay here with you," I mentioned.

"You promised your friend that we would go. Let's go, it'll be fun." She smiled. "If I kiss you, can we go?"

"Maybe," I pouted.