Teddy and Edward came home three days ago, when I gave her the presents she sobbed hysterically. She ripped the paper open, exclaiming that I was a heaven sent while she shuffled over to Edward to show him. "Look sweetpea, your auntie thinks you're a beautiful boy, just like me."

He cooed and made unintelligible noises as Teddy held up the vinyl and flipped through the pages of the book. "That's right E, the tree did give them everything they ever needed." It made my heart swell seeing their interaction, how naturally she took on this role.

Edward is a near duplicate of Teddy, minus his full head of brown hair, the only distinguishable trait that shows that he isn't just Teddy's clone. Nick said that he is grateful he doesn't look like him which I find a little sad.

On another note, remember when I said that Edward is the cutest baby ever? He was until he woke up every hour during the night. Teddy, Nick, and I take turns seeing what he needs. Yep, you heard that right, I get Edward from bed every three hours. On the first night, I changed his diaper to let Nick and Teddy rest. They took that as an invitation to make me the third parent, which I didn't know I'd be signing up for. Other than that though, he's a peach.

Now it's Saturday, more class. Except I'm actually looking forward to it, Sam and I are going for coffee after. Plus, Darcy gave me the day off today. I woke up this morning and had breakfast before digging through both Teddy and I's closets for something to wear. I tend to wear whatever I grab the fastest but I want to look nice today. I ended up tucking a green sweater into a plaid pleated skirt, the shoes stay the same, just docs. I found an old pair of chunky gold hoops and slid them into my ears.Then came the hair, I loosely braided it into two pigtails that fall just past my shoulders.

Nick dropped me off to the old church on the way to work and I made it in just before class started. I found my seat next to Sam and class progressed in slow motion. Maybe it was due to the anticipation of going out with Sam after but it felt like hours passed as the minute hand ticked from one mark to the next.

We whispered nonsensical things as the professor discussed the assignments we'd be turning in on Monday, I'd already completed and handed it in on my way into class. For the last twenty minutes we were given time to work on the assignment, I just wrote down little nothings as I impatiently waited for the clock to signal our exit.

Finally the time came, Sam and I practically jumped from our seats to leave. When we were about to leave, the professor called my name across the worship hall. "Phoebe Carter."

I look to Sam, who just shrugs, before my lips form into a tight line and I'm headed towards the professor's desk. "Hey Pheebs, I'll meet you out front, okay?" Sam says softly before he's headed out the door. The one day I'm eager to leave is the day I'm asked to speak with him.

"Phoebe Carter?" The professor inquires. He's a shorter man, middle aged. You can tell by the creases on forehead and the wrinkles in his suit that he's spent his whole life working, never seeming to pursue a passion but rather fund his life through daytime work. He has always come off as dull to me but I guess that's why they say, 'All work and no play makes Jack a dull boy.'

He is the physical representation of my worst nightmare, watch others chase their dreams as you stay stagnant. He's the kind of man that is a temporary presence but the recollection of their name is a permanent reminder, a reminder of everything you never want, of everything you've tried your whole life to avoid.

"Phoebe." He says again, my inattentive state of mind is snapped out and I bring him to the forefront.

I lower a brow as I tilt my head slightly, "Yes, sir?"

"This piece you've submitted, it's beautifully done. I'd like to submit it into a short writing contest." He tells me with a seriousness I'd not heard from him before.

"Really? That'd be great, that is if my name would remain on the work. I'd be delighted to have my piece submitted." I burst with enthusiasm.

A piece of my writing, in a contest? When I said that this professor is everything I never want to be, I think he may have just given me my way out. If I win this and it gets the exposure I hope it does, it's possible I could never have to become the thing I despise the most, my mother.

"Of course you'll be credited, this contest just requires an advisor's approval for submission. I'll have the form for you to fill out next class. I think you have a good shot of winning." He nods before turning to his desk, "Oh and Phoebe," he looks at me with a stern face, "Don't waste your talent through interdependence."

I nod softly, "Ye-yes, sir. I-I mean no sir, I won't."

"You may go now." His monotonous voice rings as he turns back to the desk to sit behind it.

I rush out of the church and literally run into Sam, I stumble and nearly fall to the ground before he catches me. "Woah there, slow down." He chuckles as he lifts me back upright.

"Oh my fucking god, Sam, you'll never guess what just happened." I pause and he goes to speak but I start up again before he's able to get a word out, "He's going to submit my work into a short-piece writing contest." I jump up and down with giddiness.

"That's fantastic Pheebs," he held his hand up and I high five his palm. "Ready to go?"

I nod feverishly and I skip ahead of him to his truck. I jump in and as soon as he's turned the key in the ignition, I'm dialling through the different radio stations. I've learned over the short time that I've had Sam's number that the only music genre we both enjoy is classic rock, I'm not particular but the only thing I despise, new age country, is the only other genre he listens to.

I don't want to sound pretentious or intolerant but I cannot stand country music. Every song sounds the same and is about the same thing, old age country had a twang of individuality amongst its artists, now though, they all sound the same. They're either singing about their father being their best friend, being deeply in love, or keying their ex's car.

Sam says that he enjoys the simplicity of country music, that there's usually a warmhearted message to it and that's what keeps him listening. I guess that is one way of looking at it, I just view it as conformity. Conforming to the idea of love that others have so unrealistically set.

That's the strange thing about love, we all crave it and yet it's concurrently the most destructive element to the human experience. You're either a lovesick or have completely abandoned the construct. I have yet to decide which is worse, to never be loved or to be loved and be unable to reciprocate or comprehend it.

I think love is real, it does exist. Teddy and Nick, Darcy and Eddie, and Dorthea and George, those people are the reasons I believe in romantic love. Bob is the reason I believe in platonic love. For a period of time I thought both were a hoax, a hoax that only I was a participant in. I still question if I'm one that is meant to love and to be loved.

I pull my eyes away from the window and to Sam, if anyone can show me what love is meant to feel like, it's him. If I can't love someone like him, I don't know how I'd ever be able to love at all.

"Whatcha thinkin about, Pheebs?" He asks as his eyes stay on the road. His one hand wrapped around the steering wheel as the other taps along to the beat of the music on the side of the car door.

"Hm?" I hum as I drift my eyes down to my shoes. "Oh, nothing."

I barely know Sam, although he's cute, I'm not in love with him or anything close to that. I'm also not about to spill my deepest insecurities to him, scaring him off would not be ideal. Even if it ends up being platonic, Sam is someone I'd like to love. His soul seems to be one that I'd like to have around for a while.

"You sure? You seem to be concentrating awful hard on that window?" He asks again with curiosity lacing his words.

"Just thinking about nothing," I say. Really what I meant was, 'Just thinking about nothing, nothing and everything.'

"A wandering mind, that's what you've got." He says matter of factly. "I've noticed it. During class especially, but even when you're screaming the words to songs, you have this look in your eye, that tells me you're not really here. You're somewhere else most of the time."

I scrunch my face up with offence, "Is that a bad thing?"

He shakes his head, "Not necessarily."

Oh, not really the answer I was hoping for. Not necessarily, that feels like, 'yes but I don't want to hurt your feelings,' which in some ways hurts even more.

He parks the car on the side lot that rests on the corner behind Tiff's. "Oh, we're going to Tiff's?" I didn't really think he knew about Tiff's, it's not a secret or anything, just not the place I'd expect him to take me for a coffee.

"Tiff's? Never been there, got good coffee?" He asks with a lost tone to his voice. "I was going to take you to the coffee shop down the street."

"Oh alright." I nod in agreement. I've never been to that coffee shop before, I always just get black coffee from Tiffs. I'm not into fancied up coffee.

We got to the coffee shop, it's called Jo's, like a cup of Jo. Turns out it's the only chain within this town. Let me just tell you now, Tiff's coffee is a hundred times better. I asked for a cup of black coffee and they told me the closet they have is an Americano, it tasted like a watery pile of garbage. I begrudgingly drank it, pretending to like it as Sam sipped on some latte.

The atmosphere in here is strange as well, it's so modern and minimal. It doesn't have much character--no photos of the staff and their family on the walls, no brightly colored stools, no friendly staff. Emphasis on the no friendly staff, when I dared to ask for a plain cup of coffee I got a harsh glare from the girl working.

"How's your coffee?" Sam asks kindly.

I pull a soft falsified smile, "It's really good."

He nods and brings his cup back down from his lips to rest it on the table, "This is the best coffee I've had."

Oh no, no. No, that will not do. I can't even think about coffee with milk in it without feeling queasy. "I didn't take you for the latte type," I say. That's a lie, he's totally the kind of guy to get a latte. Don't get me wrong, there is nothing wrong with liking lattes but I just know the type. Sam is the type.

"I didn't know there were coffee types," He jokes, "In that case, I didn't take you for an Americano type."

That's because I'm not.

"Guess we're both full of surprises."

Sam and I talked for a while, mostly about school and family. He's really easy to talk to. I couldn't help but find my mind wandering off, when he'd be talking I'd catch glimpses of people walking past on the street and it'd remind me of something. I'd just get stuck in this cycle of trying to really listen to Sam, noticing something outside, zoning out, feeling guilty for zoning out, and then it'd start all over again.

I found out Sam is an only child, parents still happily married. He's got a dog named Buddy and a cat named Henry (how typical). He went to high school half an hour away and was his class president and varsity lacrosse player. He didn't come from a lot of money and so that's why he goes to community college. His dad is some kind of businessman and his mom works part time at a pottery studio. His mom was a stay at home mom until Sam went to high school, said she's the person he looks up to the most. His dad has gone through a tough time with work, apparently he's usually the one to get passed up on any kind of promotions. He told stories from high school, planning prom and playing big rivalry games.

I didn't talk much about myself, mostly talked about Teddy and Nick. I didn't tell him about my parents, didn't want to kill the mood. I talked about Bob and how he's the kindest man I've ever met. Darcy's was also a topic of discussion, he asked if I ever got bored of that place, to which I said absolutely not. He said that didn't surprise him at all, that he could tell that I'm the kind of writer that loves to be surrounded by other great work.

As we were walking back to the car I saw Harry fixing something outside, it looked like he was nailing a letter that was on the front of the building had started to fall off. Made me kind of sad, the D of Dorthea's has been hanging on by a few nails for so many years, I'd hoped it'd never get fixed.

He had a foot on the step of the ladder and was hammering it with one hand while he held the letter in place with the other. A flannel laid strewn across the handle at the top of the ladder. His shirtless build was on display as the muscles of his shoulders and arms flexed with each strike of the hammer, his chest and abdomen remained tight as to sturdy him on the ladder.

I looked back to Sam as he continued down the sidewalk, "Sam! Let's go to the record store." I let out before I even give myself a chance to think about it.

"Oh, okay. I didn't even know you had one." He said with light elation to his voice.

I lead Sam down the sidewalk towards the store as Harry continues to beat the nails into the letter in an attempt to stabilize it. The crisp November breeze left my cheeks flushed and my hands numb. Sam's arm brushing against mine as his fingers trace against my knuckles as we walk side by side.

We get to the place where Harry is blocking the entrance with the ladder and I fold my arms over my chest. He drops his head to look at me, "Hey sunshine, why the long face?"

"I just want to get inside," I say with insincere politeness.

"And?" He says dismissively.

I glance at Sam who merely glances at me before looking at Harry, "We were just wondering if you could move the ladder so we could get into the store."

God, Sam is so much nicer than me.

"Sure thing, pal." Harry says with disingenuous friendliness.

Sam shoots me a half smile before looking back to Harry who hasn't moved.

"Oh, you mean right now? Yeah, can't do that." He says with contempt.

I let out a long exhale and take a step closer to the ladder, "And why is that, Sunshine?"

He lets out a short chuckle and lifts a brow before turning back to look between Sam and I, "Just don't want to."

"You're losing customers." Sam says befuddled.

Harry juts his lip out and lowers his brows in a force pout, "Oh, that's too bad."

Just as I was about to flip my lid, Dorthea opens the door and sticks her head out, "Harry, move that ladder, they can't get in."

I try to fight it but a victorious smirk pulls across my face. Checkmate bitch, you can't ignore your grandmother.

He hesitantly steps off the ladder and moves it so that we're able to access the door. As I walked through the door, I immaturely stuck my tongue out at him, I couldn't help it.

We make it into the warm, homely record store and Sam's eyes scan around before meeting mine, "This place is cool."

I nod before looking over at the counter to see Dorthea and George both behind it. I give them a gentle wave, "That's Dorthea and George, this is their store."

He gives an acknowledging head shake before he heads towards the shelves. Immediately I noticed him go to the country section, any of the vinyls are older and the newest country is probably five years old and on CDs.

"Hey Sam, I'm going to go into the oldies section. I'll meet you back over here." I say as I head away from him.

I hear the door open and close before I hear George say dramatically, "Harry Edward, put your shirt on. This is a music store, we're not that kind of establishment."

I bring my fist to my mouth as I stifle a laugh, Harry Edward, that's a name. I shouldn't talk though, my nephew's name is Edward, Edward Robert, Eddie Bob.

I scan the shelves before finding a Frank Sinatra vinyl, it has been clearly loved. The cover is faded with scratches, the paper is peeling away in some places. It's perfect. I take it off the shelf but when I turn away with it in my hands I nearly run into a tall figure.

"What're you doing?" I whisper as I look up to meet Harry's eyes. His flannel is half buttoned and shows the ink covering his chest.

He tilts his head and peers down at me, "What're you doing? Got a new pet? I see he's into country music."

"Pet?" I scoff, "His name is Sam and he's not a pet. You didn't answer my question."

"I am making sure you don't steal anything." He shrugs.

My mouth falls open, "Steal anything? I would never do that. Besides, your grandparents have the same policy as Darcy."

"Mmm. And we have the same damage fee too." He snaps back.

I let out a laugh through my nose and shook my head, "Have a good day sunshine."

As I start to walk away I hear him mumble, "Sunshine of my life."

I recognize that, it's a song by Frank Sinatra. I guess George wasn't joking around when he said that Harry was an old soul. Then again, who doesn't like Frank Sinatra?

I make my way to the front and find Sam leaning against the wall near the checkout. "Find something good?" He asks.

I nod eagerly and hold the vinyl out, "Mhmm."

"Oh that's a lovely one, dear." Dorthea chimes in.

"You keep surprising me and yet not at all, Pheebs." Sam says. I scrunch my nose up and he continues, "I didn't think that's what you'd come up here with. Now that I see you with it though, it makes total sense."

"Thank you?" I say unsurely.

I go to put the vinyl on the counter but Dorthea waves me off, "I don't need to check it out, I know you'll take care of it."

A tight-lipped smile spreads on my face, "Thanks Dorthea."

We headed out of the store, my vinyl under my arm. We walked back to the car and got in. I placed the vinyl over my legs and couldn't help the grin that appeared when I looked at it. Sam jumps in and closes the door behind him.

As he twists the key in the ignition he turns to look at me, "I really liked hanging with you today, we should do it again sometime."

I nod and my lips curl up at the corners, "Me too."

He dropped me back off at my house and I waved goodbye to him before damn near skipping inside.

Teddy is laying on the couch, eyelids heavy as she stares at the screen. "Hey Ted."

She lifts her head from the armrest and nods before laying it back down. I let out a light laugh, "Rough day?"

She nods slowly with her eyes gently shut, "The longest day of my life." Her head shoots up though and looks at me, "Wait! You're home!"

My eyes widen a bit in startle and my lips form into a line, "Yeah, I'm home."

"How was your day with that cutie Sam? She raises a brow at me.

"It was nice, we got coffee and I found an old vinyl."

"Oh no, I've had a horrible day. I'm gonna need more details than that." She says disapprovingly.

I plop down on the couch next to her feet and place the vinyl on the coffee table in front of us. "Okay, okay."

I tell her all about it--the horrible coffee, what Sam and I talked about, what I didn't tell him, the ladder issue, and the incident with Harry in the vinyl aisle.

"Phoebe Mae, you better marry that boy right now." She says as she reaches up to grab my shoulders.