"Hi."

Love is at your doorway, fresh plate of cupcakes in her hand. It's the third time this week. It's Wednesday (an entire shelf of your fridge is almost brimming). She can't help herself, okay? Ever since you started dating, for real—it's like she can't get enough of you. Not like she ever could, but it's different now. She's no longer limited to simply trailing after you, keeping a watchful eye from a distance. She can do more than just read over the file on everything the Quinn family PI could possibly find on you, slid her under the table. Over, and over again.

"The shop had extra." She explains breathily, smiling in that charming, slightly-flustered way of hers with her eyes sparkling like diamonds. "Wanted to do something nice for you." She would give you everything, if you'd let her. It's only a matter of time.

She knows she's acting forward. Extremely forward. But you don’t seem to mind, the way everyone else’s does. Nor do you suspect the way she somehow happens to bump into you everywhere. The DMV, for one. The markets. The grocer. Hell, the bookstore was pushing it—but she’s not lying when she says she really can’t get enough of you.

Besides; forward would be sitting you down and showing you exactly how and where your (now) ex-girlfriend disappeared to (mincemeat at the bottom of the Hollywood Reservoir). That was an accident, and Love had panicked for a total of three seconds before she called her people and now everything's fine. Better than fine, actually, because you work at Avarin and you’re dating. Dating. As a bonus? She gets to see you everyday, no stalking required.

She will weasel her way into your heart. It's only fair, after you so callously dropped into her life looking so perfect, acting so real. You can even deal with Forty's bullshit. God.