He was incredible. Brilliant, philanthropic, hardworking, focused, driven, kind.

He also lost track of time, went days without showering and had terrible eating habits—takeout way too often, or dinner consisting of Flamin’ Hot Doritos because quite often, he simply didn’t hear the buzzer or see the text from the delivery service. He made several pots of coffee every day but forgot to take more than a sip or two, resulting in numerous mugs lurking on flat surfaces, the bitter smell of old grounds thick in the air.

In essence, he was a hermit. A beautiful hermit with a bad haircut and terrible clothes.

“Why don’t you have your own company?” she asked, sitting one night in his sad living quarters. “You know, a giant eco-friendly building with meditation rooms and massage therapists roaming the halls, looking for tight shoulders. On-site daycare, company retreats in the Himalayas . . .”

He smiled. “You could design the space for me.”

It was her profession, after all. “Done. I’d even give you a discount.”

“I’m not really that kind of guy. I like being alone.” He blushed a little. “But I also like having you here.”

She felt a warm squeeze of pleasure. “And why is that?”

He shrugged, biting down on a smile. “You smell nice.”

“Better than stale coffee and old pizza?”

“Let’s not get crazy.” Then he kissed her, his mouth slow and warm, his hands pretty damn excellent for a guy who didn’t get out much, and yes, she was in love.

Since Josh had virtually no social life and communicated with people only via technology and only when absolutely necessary, she tried to open up his life a bit. He wasn’t agoraphobic . . . he just worked a ton, and was on the shy side. Socially awkward, rather than socially anxious. He hated loud noises, like fireworks or roaring motorcycles, which made him agitated, saying the sound hurt his brain. In groups, he had a time frame before he would shut down like a phone that abruptly lost its charge—a half hour at first, then an hour as she wooed him out more and more. But he also said he had fun, once he relaxed a little. He told her he was on the spectrum and wasn’t great at picking up cues all the time. “So if I’m being a jerk, please tell me,” he said one night, in bed, post-nooky.

“Ditto,” she said, smoothing back his hair. His earnestness . . . it got her right in the heart. “For the record, you were wonderful this past hour.”

She took him hiking, surprised that he could outpace her when, to the best of her knowledge, his only form of exercise was walking from kitchen to desk to bedroom. Then again, her asthma was worse at different times of the year. But if she got out of breath, he’d stop and look at her with those dark, dark eyes lit with that gleam of light, and she’d feel so seen, so protected and loved, that maybe it wasn’t the asthma. Maybe it was just love stealing her breath.

Love at second sight. Even though he’d insulted her way back when she was a twitty freshman, she had to give him points for being right. She had been shallow. She had been measuring her worth in cuteness, good cheer and popularity.

She didn’t anymore. Her father’s death, her mom’s change in personality, the birth of Sebastian, her involvement in things like the community center, her desire to do well at her job . . . she’d grown up.

She wanted to be worthy of a person like Joshua Park.

Three days after they had run into each other at the Hope Center, when she had boldly taken fate by the horns and asked him out, Lauren was in a committed relationship. Just like that. There was no conversation or discussion—they just were. They talked every day. Texted more than that. Saw each other a few times a week, then nearly every day. She woke up smiling because of him, and even though she was generally a happy person, she now understood what had been missing in her life.

Him.

His deep, calm voice caused a physical reaction that made her insides tremble and thrill. When she saw him, she was propelled into his arms by nothing short of pure joy and a truckload of endorphins.

Love wasn’t hard. It wasn’t complicated. They didn’t have to talk about monogamy or commitment. “I want to see you again as soon as possible,” he said on their first date, so forthright and unguarded that she felt a rush of protectiveness.

She would take such good care of him. He was so pure, and she would make a beautiful life with him. For him. Because of him.

And he took care of her, too. He admired her work and understood its complexity, unlike most people, who thought she was an interior decorator or landscaper, rather than the designer of how space would be used. He was so focused on her as she talked about it that, at first, she felt shy. This guy saved lives with his brain, and it was kinda sorta hard to compete with that. But he asked for her perspective on things, readily admitting he didn’t know anything about what made a park pretty or what purpose a public square had or what pedestrian flow meant. And he listened to her answers about how public spaces could be the soul of a city or college, how they could transform the bleakest industrial park or poorest neighborhood.

His attention, so focused and singular, made her feel bathed in warm, golden sun. No guy she’d dated had ever been so interested in her. Most had just waited for their turn to talk, or interrupted her or mansplained till she cut them off. Other guys bided their time (generally fifteen minutes) until they could see if she’d put out that night.

Josh saw her, heard every word, and made her feel . . . important. The most important person in the world.

Which, to be fair, was not the most common experience for Lauren. Jen was the superior sister, a fact Lauren would not dispute. Growing up, her mom always assumed her second daughter was fine, which Lauren was. Her mom had been a teacher, and her patience for kids dried up before she came home. Jen was fabulous, and Lauren was her biggest fan. Her dad had thought both his girls had hung the moon.

Men Lauren’s age . . . most of them were still teenagers, no matter what age their driver’s licenses showed.