It's waking up with her curled against my side.
It's hearing her sleepy little noises in the morning.
It's watching her wander around my kitchen wearing one of my T-shirts and fuzzy socks while she makes coffee.
It's the way she steals my bacon and pretends she didn't.
It's how she says grace before breakfast and then threatens bodily harm if I tease her about it.
It's seeing my toothbrush sitting beside hers in my bathroom.
Jesus Christ.
A toothbrush.
I'm old enough to know better, and yet I'm getting emotional over dental hygiene.
What the hell happened to me?
Because before Mary?
Women didn't stay.
Neither did I.
One night.
Maybe two.
Wham bam, thank you ma'am.
No complications.
No attachments.
No expectations.
No making plans or leaving clothes in my apartment.
Hell, I used to pride myself on being able to walk away.
Now? Now I'm annoyed she took her favorite shampoo home because I liked seeing it in my shower.
Who gets sentimental over shampoo?
Apparently, me—Kai Montego, former man-whore, and current lovesick idiot.
The realization is deeply unsettling.
Because somewhere between fake dating and listening to her tell me stories about her first graders, I stopped thinking of Mary as temporary.
Somewhere between Bingo Night and Thai food and waking up tangled together in my bed, I stopped looking for the exit.
Hell, I started looking for forever.
I know exactly when it happened, too.
One Sunday morning.