***

There are no signs on the warehouse, which makes the surprise even better. We wait for a few people to exit the building before stepping inside.

She gasps, then grips my arm tight, before releasing an all-consuming laugh. “This is amazing!” She practically runs past the registers and down the first aisle. “How did you find this place?” she asks, picking up a frame.

I take a look around. All I can see are aisles upon aisles of nothing but picture frames. “It’s like an overstocked warehouse I think...so this will be here for a few weeks. I know right before Christmas they fill it with decorations.”

“This place should exist for eternity!”

I watch her pick up a few frames; inspect the pictures inside, before setting them back on the shelf. “You better make some choices. We don’t have all day.”

Her eyes widen as if new life has just been pumped into her.

I laugh. “I’ll get a basket.”

“You better get a cart!”

Three hours.

That’s how long we spent looking at nothing but frames. Most dudes would’ve walked out after a half hour and her constant indecisiveness. Call me a chump, but I was just as into it as she was.

Now, came the best part.

The real surprise.

We drive a few miles east and as soon as she realizes where we are; she starts to fidget in her seat. We park the car and start walking toward the center of Logan circle, a park in Center City. She keeps her head down and stays quiet, right up until we’re a few yards away from the fountain in the middle of the park. Then she stops in her tracks and turns to me. “Okay,” she breathes, pushing back her shoulders and shaking out her hands. “I have to tell you something.”

I wait.

And wait.

Then I finally break the silence. “What’s going on?”

“This place—I’m just a little unsure of what I’m feeling right now.”

I take her hands and hold them. “Why?”

“It’s just that—you know how I told you about that stuff ?”

I watch a million different emotions flash in her eyes. “Yeah...”

“I’ve spent a lot of nights here—sleeping in this park.”

Shit. “I’m sorry. We can go. I just thought—”

“No.” She tries to laugh, but her need to cry is greater. “I’m not telling you because I want your pity, or because I want to leave. I’m telling you because until right now—this place—it held a completely different meaning for me. And until you came along, Ky, so did everything else.”

She places her hand on the back of my neck, bringing me down to her waiting lips. The warmth of her tears spread on my cheek as I eagerly return her kiss. The want to say what we can’t voice is beyond need, beyond desperation. She pulls back; her eyes glazed but her smile in place. Her arm settles around my waist as she leads us to the fountain.

I stay quiet. Because really? What the hell am I meant to say?

We remain connected as we watch the large streams of water shoot out of the three large sculptures. A few kids play in the bottom of the fountain, their laughter bringing out my own. “You know...” she says quietly, “. . . if you asked me a few months ago to describe this place, it wouldn’t be this.”

“How would you describe it now?”

Slowly, she turns to me. And even though she smiles to cover it up, I can still see the sadness, the struggle to admit what she says next. “I don’t want to feel trapped anymore, Ky. And I know that doesn’t make sense to you.” She closes her eyes and tilts her head back, letting the heat of the sun warm her face. “It’s kind of amazing when you think about it, though. There’s all of this to experience”—she opens her eyes and smiles wider, then circles her finger in the air—”and all you have to do is exist.”

I keep my eyes on her. “Exist? It’s that simple, huh?”

Her smile turns to a smirk. Then she grabs my arm, pulling me with her until her feet, shoes and all, are in the water. “And make waves!”

I laugh, stepping in with her. She releases my arm so she can spin around in the water, her legs kicking out, splashing anything and everything.

“You’re crazy!” I shout.

She stops, pouts, and steps to me. “I’m crazy?” she asks.

I hold the side of her face, tilting her head up. “You’re crazy beautiful.” I seal her pout with a kiss.

My ears fill with the sound of water running, of kids laughing, of the world going on around us. And I realize it now—there is one thing better than waking up to Madison in my bed.

It’s existing with Madison.

And, yes, it really is that simple.

MADISON

I used to close my eyes and try to imagine what it would be like...to feel a breeze through my hair...hear the sounds of existence...to feel unrestricted.

If I knew it would feel like this—this good—I never would’ve opened my eyes.

20

KY

A THROAT CLEARING has us pulling apart. Madison hides her face in my chest while I look over at the sound. I think we’re about to get scolded for our public display of maybe a little too much affection, but a middle-aged woman just smiles at us, curling her finger at me.

I take Madison’s hand and walk over to her. “I hope you don’t think I was intruding,” the woman says, lifting her phone for me to view. “It was just too good a memory not to capture.” I take the phone from her hand and look at the picture she’d taken.

And there we are, kissing in front of the fountain, arms around each other. And at that moment—we ignored everything else. There was no outside world. We were it. And it was just like the couple from the first frame we bought.

You know...the ones who met in the foyer of their building...

The ones who ended up living opposite each other...

The ones who used pizza as a way to get closer...

I laugh and show Madison.

She covers her mouth with her hand and flicks her gaze between the phone and me.

“Look at that,” I say, my eyes on hers. “We’re loving freely.”

***

The woman sent the picture to my phone, and Madison and I spent the rest of the afternoon taking selfies. She snorted when I said the word ‘selfie,’ like the word didn’t really exist. I was about to laugh at her and ask if she’d been living under a rock for the last few years, but then I realized...maybe she actually had been...living under a rock, I mean. It would explain why she seemed to have no clue what the hell Facebook was.

Of course, I’m curious about what had changed—and how she’s managing to rent an apartment when she’s unemployed. But my feelings for her completely outweigh my curiosity.

It’s almost dawn when we leave the park. Madison’s been quiet on the drive home, so I figure she’s just thinking about the day...hopefully thinking about me, just like I’m thinking about her. We stop by a photo-printing kiosk to print off all the pictures we’d taken from my phone. “I can’t believe this is what I look like!” she’d said at one point.

I asked her how she didn’t know what she looked like.