Calm settles around me. A sense of rightness fitting like connecting puzzle pieces that complete the picture.

“I didn’t mean to fall in love with you and ruin our friendship. So…I’ll stop.”

Forget the punching bag. His face will do just fine.

“Anna, you are not a disaster. You’re a delight.”

I am unapologetic, imperfect, and awkward Anna Waite. Someone who names her car and gets stuck on the back of fire trucks.

If this was a movie, now would be the moment Dylan makes a move, dropping everything to pull me into an embrace.

“So, you’re dating the paramedic?” Dylan’s lips stay flat, his eyebrow raised, and he stares straight ahead.

The fork pauses halfway to my mouth. An urge to laugh bubbles and I choke it back. “Women only want you for your body?”

We’re mirror images, him on one side, me on the other, tilting toward the hunk of wood that serves as our confessional.

Tears build and slide down my cheeks. My car; totaled, my finances; crap, my pool of people to rely on; a puddle.