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date.
    I’ve spent the afternoon on the couch with my laptop, scrolling through ads on Peyton Central, our school’s equivalent to Facebook. Students can check e-mail, sell used textbooks, browse for campus internships, and sometimes, find a new roommate.
    So far, I’m unimpressed.
    Oh, there are plenty of eager hopefuls. Some even posted pictures. And while my 80s-loving heart is impressed with the ad that reads, ‘Seeking roommate who likes to watch Back to the Future and listen to old school Mellencamp,’ I just can’t help but think the crafty bastard, whose name is BigDaddy21, is probably just looking for a girlfriend.
    Giving up, I close my laptop and head to the kitchen to finish dinner. Tessa made lasagna, so the apartment already smells like heaven. As I place the garlic bread in the oven, the depressing thought hits me that, very soon, I’m going to be cooking my own meals.
    I have a feeling there’s going to be a lot of take-out in my future.
    The knock at the door jerks me right out of my pity party. I limp my way through the living room and open the door.
    “Hi.”
    “Hey.” He’s wearing his Inigo Montoya T-shirt and holding a pretty bouquet of wildflowers. He looks a little nervous. “Umm . . . I couldn’t decide between these and roses, but my dad always said that you should bring flowers to a girl any chance you get, so I’m . . .”
    He’s babbling, and it’s adorable. I decide to put him out of his misery and reach for his hand, pulling him inside.
    “Wildflowers are my favorite.”
    His face immediately relaxes. “Yeah?”
    “Yes.”
    I lead him into the kitchen, where I find a vase and fill it with water. “This was really sweet of you. Thank you.”
    Over dinner, we talk about school. I’m surprised to learn his schedule is just as horrible as mine, and just like me, he has to graduate in May. Summer classes are not an option.
    “I just want to be done. One last summer of freedom before I start teaching.”
    Brandon nods. “I understand. I’m headed to Georgia right after I graduate.”
    Before I can ask what’s in Georgia, he asks about my future plans.
    “I really want to teach English.”
    “Here?”
    “Anywhere. Hopefully close to home, but I’ll go wherever there’s a job.”
    Dinner is delicious, of course, and we each send a quick text to Tessa to thank her for cooking before we head to the living room. I pop the DVD into the player and hand him the remote.
    He pulls me toward the couch. “Do you cry?”
    “What do you mean?”
    “You know, when Westley supposedly dies, or when Buttercup marries Prince Humperdinck. Do you cry?”
    “She doesn’t technically marry him, if you remember.”
    Brandon chuckles and helps me get comfortable on the sofa. My ankle doesn’t hurt nearly as much now, but he insists I prop it up anyway.
    For the next ninety minutes, we watch our favorite movie as if it’s the very first time. It feels like the first time, because I’m watching it with someone who truly loves it as much as I do. During the movie, our bodies drift closer, until Brandon finally takes my hand while wrapping his other arm around me. I snuggle deep into his arms without taking my eyes off the television.
    It should be weird, but it’s not.
    “I could never go out with someone like Buttercup,” Brandon says in the middle of the movie. “She has no faith whatsoever.”
    I laugh. “Well, I could never date someone who disappears for years and lets me believe he’s dead.”
    “So, who could you date?”
    You. The thought is immediate. Thankfully, it remains a thought and the word doesn’t escape my mouth.
    “Let’s just watch the movie, okay?”
    He smirks and turns his attention back to the screen.
    “I have to admit . . . I sort of want to punch Westley in the face every time he says ‘as you wish.’ I never understood why he couldn’t just say ‘I love you’ like a normal person.”
    “Oh, I don’t know,” I reply. “Maybe because he