<sub>Dearest Gregory,

During our little myspace bulletin wars, you titled one of your entries 'How did you know that I was the one?' I assume that since our wedding is in one month, you should know exactly what happened, and when things began to change. Please enjoy.</sub>



"So, how do you like the boss?"

Tim had asked me this the day I began working, then a month later.

He's an arrogant, self-centered asshole!

I had slammed my laptop shut, shoved past Tim, and then passed you. I knew you had heard me. Did I care? No. You had just humiliated me, again, before the entire office. Not that you really cared; I was the new mercenary-I was fair game to be teased. But you… You were the worst. After the first two weeks, the other men let up. You kept on me. You insulted me; you belittled me, you hurt me, and you made me feel like I was lower than dirt.

And every morning I hauled myself out of bed bright an early and came in to work to start the day over, praying that just once you'd acknowledge me as a human, and not as a worm. I put up with this every day for three months. Why? I was in love with you. You had no idea, and you used it against me every second of my time in my stupid little cubicle. My life was Hell, I hated myself. I wanted to quit, but for what? To try to find enough money to head back to Boston and be stuck at a dead-end job because I never went to college? No; I had something to prove.

I retaliated as hard as I could. Like Hell I'd let you see my pain. I matched you step for step; I turned your wit against you. I had the guys at the office throwing roses at my feet each time I rendered you speechless. I was finally being recognized. But for every thing I returned, you dished it back tenfold. It took me three months to realize that you were always one step ahead.

So, I upped the anti. If you insulted me, I wrecked you car. If you snapped at me, I vandalized your house. If you embarrassed me, you'd have heaps of gay porn in your mailbox in the office the next morning. We had a war that waged a grand total of six months.

I don't know why you bothered, but the day you showed up at my door with my jacket at eight o'clock pm, I had been in my favorite grey sweats and a white tank top, munching on a fruit salad on my couch as I watched Mythbusters. When my bell rang, I expected the landlady and opened my door, spoon in mouth and hair slightly askew, empty fruit bowl in hand. You looked as if you'd been slapped, and I'm sure I looked no different. I asked you in, stumbling over my words as I took the jacket and missed the hook twice as I tried to hang it up. We sat in the kitchen and awkwardly struggled through conversation over coffee, you in your work clothes, and me looking as if I'd just rolled out of bed.

A month later, you returned to my house and asked me out to dinner.

The morning after, you picked me up for work in your Mercedes so I wouldn't have to take the bus, all with a smile and a cup of coffee the way I liked it. This continued the day after, the day after that, as well as the rest of my employment. Once a week you'd pick me up an hour early, and we'd drive up to this little hill and watch the sun break over the mountains in South Park. I think you brushed my hand as I reached for my coffee, and I had jerked away. I was under the impression that you were playing me as some sort of fool, to get the final revenge from our wars at the office.

I remained guarded, I remained ever vigilant, and I worked harder than ever.

The first January, right after New Years, I fell ill with the flu. I couldn't go to the office party, because I had too much work to get done for you, so I pulled a few all-nighters, skipped a few meals, and walked to work in the snow because you were hung over, and you couldn't pick me up. When you had finally gotten into work, I was miserable. My head was pounding, and I was in tears because the computer wouldn't load fast enough. You gently helped me to my feet, fetched my jacket, and brought me to your car. The entire time I was protesting, telling you I was fine, that I wasn't sick. You shook your head and laughed, dropping behind the wheel and driving to my house. Lifting me up, you carried me straight into my bathroom, and asked me permission so that you could undress me. At this point, I didn't care. You slipped me into a hot bath, cleaned me up and dressed me for bed, tucking me in and sitting by me until morning. I don't believe you actually slept. When I woke, you were in the kitchen, making yourself a cup of coffee, and preparing oatmeal for me with cinnamon and apples. When you returned to my room, you looked embarrassed-I don't think you expected me to be awake. Setting it down on the table beside me, you promised me you'd come back after work, and handed me my laptop.

We chatted via webcam the entire day. I don't think I had ever felt so happy in my life.

Thank you for last night.

It was nothing, you had told me. It was the least you could do to get me home safely.

No, not for that. For actually caring about me.

I had honestly expected you to tell me that you cared about all of your mercs, because you needed them. Instead, you stared directly into the camera and gave me a genuine smile, and told me that you needed me. At the time, I brushed it off as you meaning you needed me for work.

Five months later, I was on your doorstep in tears. When you answered, before you could even ask me what had happened, I had blurted out what I had been trying to hide for almost a year.

I love you.

We stared at each other, my breathing harsh and my body trembling from the cold and your eyes wide and lips slightly parted. Moments passed, and then you stepped down from your doorway and wrapped one arm around my waist, your other hand coming up under my chin. Before I had even registered my body was against yours, you kissed me. It wasn't anything over-the-top. A simple firm, passionate press of lips against lips. The single kiss that sent my entire world crashing to the ground. All of the pain from the office, all of the humiliation and all of the nights I spent crying my eyes out because I couldn't stand you were forgotten. All because of one small gesture, and the three words I'd been waiting an entire year to hear from you.

I love you too.

We didn't actually begin to date until a month later, in July. You asked me out to dinner the day you promoted me to your top advisor in the office. It wasn't anything fancy, some place that we had discovered accidentally after becoming lost on a mission somewhere between Colorado and Nebraska. After dinner had finished, you took me out behind the restaurant and toward a gazebo, where you pulled me down beside you hand laced our fingers together. It started the way I had always imagined it would;

We've known each other for quite some time and I've come to realize…

I would never have expected anything less as you gazed into my eyes and brushed your hand across my cheek, asking me to be yours. I could only stare and nod dumbly-things were pretty much a rush. Leaning forward, I kissed you, unlike any of the few kisses we had shared. My hands were in your hair, my lips kneading yours, my hips firmly molded to yours as you pulled me into your lap.

Just then, as your hands found my waist, your cell phone rang. Stopping the kiss, you pulled it from your pocket, and moved me out of your lap. For a moment, I thought you'd take the call, but instead you raised it above your head, took a few steps and wound your arm back, chucking it as far as you could down the side of the cliff. As you turned back to me and opened your arms, I knew I had chosen the right man.




<sub>And there you have it. How I knew you were the right man.

Forever and Always
Damiana Lynn</sub>