Andrei took the turns gently on the way back, and we made it back in time to see an impatient, crying Frankie circling around to the front of the house. Andrei grabbed the box of cat food and quickly snapped open a can. Before I could blink, he jogged around the lighthouse, bob-tailed Frankie weaving between his heels.

I shook my head and unlocked the front door. Placing the bags on the kitchen table, I started unpacking. After a couple of sharp knocks at the back door, I opened it to let Andrei in, and in burst Frankie!

"Shoot! Catch her, Andrei!"

We scrambled after the beast, dodging kitchen table, doorjam, couch, coffee table, and armchair. We cornered at the stairs. Andrei had gotten ahead of her, and I watched her bobbed tail flick as I crept towards her with a dish towel outstretched. I was a hairsbreadth away from her when my nose twitched.

Dammit. Dammit all to hell, I thought, and sneezed.

Frankie spooked and shot up into the air. I jumped towards her, towel ready, while Andrei held his hands out to grab her, too. Frankie, the minxy fox, darted to the side and left us two bumbling humans--actually, one human, one Fae--to crash headfirst into each other.

I felt Andrei's arms wrap around me as my arms, towel still at the ready, aimed for his neck. I heard an umph, and we landed on the floor.

We ended up in a tangle of limbs. Andrei's arms were wrapped around my waist, my legs tied with his. My torso flat against his own. My hands, however, hit the floor knuckles first and smarted hotly, while the towel I held draped tightly over Andrei's face. The sight of his distorted features through the towel looked so horrendous, and so different from his handsome face, that I burst out laughing.

My grip loosened, and I pulled the towel away. His affronted expression tickled my gizzard even more, and tears sprung to my eyes.

"Your face!" I gasped for air, "it was like this!" I pushed up my nose with the index finger of my right hand, resting my elbows on his chest, "And like this!" The fingers on my other hand pushed my upper lip inside out to show my teeth. I held that gorgeous look with my eyes uncomfortably open, looking up and to the side in a death grimace for a hot minute before collapsing into raucous laughter again.

I felt his own laughter through my contact with his torso. It was a deep, belly laugh, that rang with merriment. Our laughter subsided into giggles, then to chuckles, then into sighs, and finally into companionable silence.

It was starting to get hot, now. I realized that I could feel his every breath through my body. Every heartbeat, every movement. It was getting to be overwhelming.

"Sam." He mumbled.

"Huh?"

Genius, I know.

"Sam." He whispered this time, a barest hiss of wind.

"What, Andrei?"

"I like you very much."

My heart stopped.

I had literally just shown this guy the most horrendous face on the planet, and he decides now is a great time to profess he has actual feelings for me?!

"Um, uh..." I stammered, speechless, but apparently not soundless.

"It is easy for us Fae. We see clear in hearts. We know if we choose well. It is hard for you, you cannot see clear like us." His arms spasmed around my waist, tightening then loosening almost instantaneously.

He paused, and the furniture held its breath.

"Sam?"

"Y-yes?"

"Do you like me very much, too?"

"Um, uh..."

My mind raced, spiraling in an ever whirling tornado of doubt, anxiety, and fear. I bit my bottom lip and dropped my face into his chest. Take the leap of faith or no? Throw everything to the wind or stay grounded? Trust in a magical creature that should not exist but does, or forever lose a part of my life I would have never known. I made my choice.

"Yes, I like you very much, too." I delivered, though quite muffled, since I'd decided that pressing my face against warm, breathing, flannel and tshirt were now the best thing since sliced bread.

Andrei's arms tightened so much that I had difficulty breathing. I lifted my head for air, and as I gasped, I felt his forehead meet mine. My eyes magnetized to his, brown like mine, but infinitely different. I knew those eyes, I'd studied them vigorously on our first date.

"I am very happy right now, Sam."

I smiled, let out a short chuckle,

"Me too, Andrei."

We stayed there in that position, our foreheads no longer touching, but we were watching each other. My fingers drew patterns over the flannel on his shoulders, his fingers tapped against my lower back. It felt like hours, but it could have only been barely a minute, because Miss High and Mighty decided then was a good time to interrupt.

A vehement mrrrrow broke our gazes, and we both glanced over at the scruffy yet regal cat.

Chuckling a bit, we struggled to get up, eventually helping each other.

His hands squeezed, almost bruisingly, on my own, then he released them.

"I guess we need to put away the groceries, huh?" I suggested, weakly. Then sneezed. A couple times.

"And Frankie needs to go home." He added, handing me a white kerchief from his flannel pocket.

I wiped my nose and followed him as he deftly scooped the wiley cat into a firm embrace and set her outside the door. I set the kerchief on the table and set about putting away the replacements for the groceries we'd ruined last night. Andrei joined me quickly, and the chore was finished almost as soon as we'd begun.

"So, uh, what would you like to do?" I asked, after an awkward pause.

"Do you have more books? I like to read with you."

"Oh! Uh, sure? Let me check." I turned and padded into the living room.

"What are you interested in? Fantasy? Scifi? Fairytale retellings?" I called from my squatting position at my overstuffed bookcase, "I have a few nonfiction in here as well. I have a frickin' dictionary. Now that is an interesting read." I noted, scathingly.

"Let's read that." He called from the kitchen, sounds of water running interfering with his voice.

"Which one?"

"The 'frickin' dictionary.' Interesting for you is interesting for me."

The way he said 'frickin' dictionary,' as if only echoing an unfamiliar phrase, clued me in on a big red flag.

"Uh, Andrei?"

"Mm?"

"What's sarcasm?"

He paused, no sound from the kitchen except for ice clinking in liquid.

"I do not know. What is sarcasm?"

"Hooooo boy, here we go," I whispered to myself.

"Pause whatever you're doing-- what even are you do--? Never mind, I've gotta explain sarcasm. C'mere for a second." I called.

The sound of clinking glasses, the stomp of feet, and Andrei was by my side within seconds.

"C'mere, sit down right here. I've gotta show you somethin'."

I patted the floor next to me, and he promptly sat; criss-cross-applesauce and very close to my side.

I eyed him suspiciously, but continued, pulling out the dictionary I got from graduating high school with honors.

"This is the dictionary," I rifled through the pages and showed them to him, pointing at the bolded words and italicized definitions, "it explains what words mean in English. There's no stories, it only explains words--"

"I have dictionary at home," he interjected, excitement coloring his voice and sparkling in his eyes, "it is Russian." He finished, a little downcast.

I patted his forearm soothingly,

"Hey, that's good! Then you totally get that a dictionary isn't really that fun to read. When my voice sounds like this when I say, 'oh that's such an interesting read,' and wiggle my head and roll my eyes," I acted out my words as I said them, possibly giving him an over exaggerated example, "I'm being sarcastic, which means I don't mean what I'm saying."

He didn't respond to that for a while, brow knit and lips pursed.

After a good couple minutes, he spoke again,

"Why do you use this sarcasm?"

"Well, uh," That gave me some food for thought. Why did I use it? Was it because I'd grown up hearing it from my older sister? Was it because I used it as a coping mechanism? Was it because of my overabundance of wit and charm?

"I guess I might use it to be funny? It makes things sound ridiculous when you use it. When you hear it a lot, you get used to it and start to use it... I think?"

He nodded, index finger and thumb stroking his chin.

"I think I understand."

"Ok, cool," I rearranged myself from criss-cross to kneeling, "so what do you want to read? Fantasy? Scifi? Anything sound good?"

"I do not know fantasy or scifi."

"Ok, wow. Um, so scifi is pretend stories about the future with fancy technology we don't have and space and time travel and spaceships and a bunch of wibbly wobbly, timey wimey.... stuff."

I winded, just had to throw out that reference, didn't you, Sam?

I continued,

"Fantasy is pretty much stories about dragons and magic and magical creatures and the... Fae, actually. Fantasy stories are pretty much stories humans made up that we know are fake," I eyed him up and down, "Which now I think might be true if you think about it hard enough."

He grinned sheepishly.

"Humans write stories about us for a long time. Stories start from long ago." He paused, then said, "I want to hear a wibbly wimey story."

I giggled and pulled out a metallic novel from the sagging bookcase,

"Okay, but I'll warn you. It can get so complicated, your brain starts to hurt."

His shocked face prompted a good, long bout of laughter.