The hadn't met cute. He hadn't tried to take her cab in the pouring rain, she hadn't taken the last strawberry scone at the local coffee shop. He had come into her office, looking for the Bursar's Office, and she had tried to show him where it was on the printed map they kept at the front desk, but neither one of them was wearing their reading glasses, so they couldn't see the finely printed building names. She wound up taking him outside and pointed up the hill, telling him it was somewhere over there, beyond that big Gothic style arch. She watched him trudge up the hill, then returned inside to her desk. The next day he showed up with a bouquet of zinnias. It was almost stalker-ish, but not quite. So maybe that was kinda cute.
Lunch led to drinks, which led to a movie, and then dinner. Each successive date led to less restrictions on their time together, less distractions to conversation. Which eventually led them to his bed, because she said her house was a mess, and while he was slightly concerned that she was hiding something (or someone)her dexterity with her tongue made him put his concerns on the back burner.
So now it was a year later, and they were at the point where you decide to agree to some level of commitment, or just walk away. People kept telling them they were perfect for each other (they never saw her reluctance to wipe up the kitchen after she used it or his refusal to wear clothing in private), and for the most part they conceded they were, but still wondered if it was enough. Does love conquer all? Or does love conquer what it can, leaving the rest of it up to us?
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