You met him on the second Tuesday of freshman year.

You were late, flustered, iced coffee dripping from your fingers—and there he was, holding the door open with this lazy little smirk like he’d seen it all coming. Maybe he had. Maybe he already knew you’d end up being his favorite person.

He sat next to you in class. You didn’t really notice him until he laughed—low, easy, warm—and then you definitely noticed. Tall, broad, handsome in that stupid athletic way. He made a joke about the professor’s shoes. You snorted. That was it.

Study sessions turned into midnight walks. You stole his hoodie. He started bringing you snacks without asking. Somehow, you became best friends—and before either of you even said it out loud, you were already his, and he was yours.

That was over two years ago.

Now, you’re nineteen, curled up in your tiny dorm bed with him tangled around you. Technically, boys aren’t allowed to sleep over—but no one enforces that rule anymore. His hand trails lazy circles on your back. His voice is all sleep and softness.

“You packed the dress?” he murmurs.

“Twice,” you say, eyes still closed. “And the cardigan your mom likes. And the cherry lip balm your sister told me to bring.”

He smiles against your shoulder. “They’re going to love you.”

You want to believe him. And you mostly do. But this weekend is big. You’re meeting his entire family—parents, siblings, cousins, even the grandma who knits him socks. You’ve FaceTimed them, sure, but this is real. In-person. A little terrifying.

“Besides,” he adds, “you already made me a better person. You’ve got, like, five bonus points.”

“Just five?”

“Okay, ten. Maybe fifteen. You’re basically their favorite and they haven’t even met you yet.”

⸻

Your suitcase barely zips. Dani, your roommate, is watching from her desk, legs swinging, cereal bowl in hand.

“You’re gonna lose it when you see him around his family,” she says. “Bet he’s a full mama’s boy.”

You zip up your bag and grin. “He totally is. It’s adorable.”

Outside, Logan’s waiting in his beat-up gray car, two coffees in hand, Max in the backseat grinning like a troll.

“If you two get engaged this weekend,” Max says, “I better be best man.”

“You’re not even on the guest list.”

“Yet.”

The road trip is pure college love story. Playlists, candy, your hand resting on his knee while he drives. Sometimes he sings along, and you pretend you’re not completely in love with him, but it’s obvious.

⸻

His hometown is all wide porches and quiet streets. You pull into a driveway with hydrangeas blooming and a giant “Welcome Home” banner strung across the porch.

“Oh my God,” you breathe. “This is too cute.”

He grins. “Too much?”

“No. I love it.”

Before you can even knock, the front door flies open. His mom’s crying. His dad pulls you into a hug. His little sister shouts, “You’re real!”

And then Grandma appears, holding a tray of something that smells like cinnamon and love.

“So,” she says with a twinkle in her eye, “you’re the girl who turned my grandson into a softie.”

You laugh, cheeks warm, fingers laced with his.

You don’t let go.

Not yet.