I'm awoken with a tight throbbing in my foot. It takes me a moment to remember what could be causing such a sensation, and then, like a bucket of cold water, my eyes fly open to investigate the damage from last night.

I sit up, flinging my blankets off as I pull my foot up towards my face to get a better look. I could squeal with joy when I see the blue and purple swirls painted into my skin. Is it weird that I feel proud about having something so grotesque on my body? Because I'm definitely proud of this...

Until about thirty seconds later when I realize how obnoxious it is to have to limp everywhere. Man, sprained ankles are no fun, whatsoever. It makes me want to slip into a sizzling hot bath and pout beneath a foot of bubbles.

Thinking back to all the things I did last night makes me wonder if someone spiked my water. What on earth made me act so completely wacko? And then I realize the reason... freedom. It was the first time I'd felt truly free. I had just quite my job and I was bubbling with the excitement of winning back Seth's heart. Now that I think about it harder, last night was definitely crazy. Normal people don't do stuff like that, right? I wouldn't really know, though, because not many people in my life are normal. Honestly, I think Seth is the most down to earth person that I know. Poor guy. How'd he end up stuck with a psycho such as myself?

But then again, it was his choice. I won't apologize for his mistakes.

After using the bathroom, I saunter—as stealthily as possible with a gimp leg—out into the living room, my eyes scanning my artwork with awe. I was definitely on something last night... or, it was just me. I tend to have that kind of effect on myself. I'm my own drug, apparently. Who needs narcotics when you've got Mercy Van's blood running through your veins?

"Looks like you had a fun night."

I'm startled from thoughts of my blood as an illegal stimulant when Seth's voice jolts me into awareness. I jump slightly, my nerves spiking my body with a wave of ugly giggles as the sensation flitters out of my body. I glare evilly at Seth, who stands innocently in the kitchen peering out at me, but my face doesn't do a very good job of concealing my amusement.

"You're home?" I question, half awed and half bewildered.

"Took the morning off," he explains, turning back around. It's only when he flips something over in a skillet that I notice the spatula in his hand.

"Why?" I wonder aloud as I limp my way into the kitchen to see that he's making pancakes.

He stops what he's doing for a moment and turns to face me. He's got a questioning look in his brows, as if he's contemplating what to actually say.

"We closed the deal last night," he says, and then waits a heartbeat before adding, "and I wanted to be with you."

My heart practically flings itself out of my chest and into Seth's arms right then and there. I have to place a hand over my chest to insure my heart behaves as I smile down at the floor. Seth doesn't see my smile though because he's already turned back towards the stove. Not satisfied by this, I take a step closer to him, wrapping my arms around his waist. He stiffens for a moment and I'm not sure if it's due to my touch or his own desire to run.

But he doesn't run. Instead, he turns, causing my arms to loosen slightly as he swivels around to face me. I'm expecting him to reprimand me for something. Though, from his recent behavior, I can't fathom why he'd push me away anymore. Instead, he flings the spatula over his shoulder where it clatters around on the countertop for a moment before going still, and gently runs his hands from my wrists to my shoulders.

I stop breathing, I know I do. I can almost feel my pulse pressing repeatedly against my throat as I swallow. He's watching me, eyes intense but gentle as they roam over my face. I'm frozen in place, anticipating his next movements. But then he smiles.

"Hi," he says softly.

Right then, it's like we're starting over. Just that one word makes it seem as if Seth has forgiven me for everything. He's welcoming me back into his presence. He's making himself vulnerable by letting me see that he wants this. He wants me.

"Hey," I whisper back, but my voice is gravelly and raw.

Seth's smile widens when he hears my response. He feels it too. I know he does. This is our new beginning. It might be awkward and frustrating, but at the same time, it's familiar and safe. I feel safe... finally.

My face grows warm as Seth runs a finger over my jaw before sliding his fingers around my ear as he pushes a strand of hair out of my face. A tingling heat follows his movements, but all the while, I remain still. I couldn't move right now even if I wanted to. I'm mesmerized by Seth's open gaze. He's watching, asking for permission. I presume he reads the answer he's hoping for because before I can even ask why he's looking at me in such an intimate way, he's lowering himself to me. I tilt my head just enough to give him the access he needs and let my eyes fall shut.

It's a breeze on a summer night. The sizzle of the sun's rays on my skin. The warmth of honey dripping over a strawberry. It's the gentlest, most comforting, and most tantalizing experience between lovers. It's the sensation of another's warm flesh grazing your own.

Seth's lips whisper an invitation against my own wanting mouth and without hesitation, I respond. There's no slowing us down after that. We remain sealed together until air becomes essential, and then he pulls away hesitantly. There's still only mere centimeters between us, but I find his gaze with my own. With heat swirling around us, I tilt my head slightly, taking in all of Seth's expression as I try to read the emotions on his face. It's that heat that produces the courage I need to ask the simple question I've been dying to get a straight answer to since Hope came along and gave me... well... hope.

"Do you love me?"

It's too late to go back now. But the look on Seth's face has me wishing that I could. He visibly closes up. I watch his face shut down as he pulls all desire inwards and frowns slightly at me. I watch as he slowly turns around, grabs up the spatula from the opposite end of the counter, flips a pancake, turns off the stove, and then, finally, turns back to face me.

What did I just do? We'd been making progress, right? Did I really overstep my bounds so much that Seth felt the need to retreat?

"Mercy," he says with a sigh, rubbing a hand over his face. "Please don't ask me that."

I freeze, closing my eyes for a moment as I try to pretend that this was all just a bad dream. There's no way I'm being rejected again. Not after all the effort Seth had been putting into our relationship. Not after all the sweet things he'd done just to prove his affection. Not after he confessed to Hope that he does love me.

I'm going to vomit.

This all feels like deja vu. You'd think that I'd be used to this twisted, sickening feeling in my stomach by now, but I'm far from it. Actually, it seems to grow more intense with each rejection. It's amazing how hope can create so much more pain when it's shot down. It seems that hope keeps some people alive, but for me, I honestly feel like it's going to be the death of me.

"But Hope told me," I finally find the voice to mutter.

Seth's brows dip slowly as he recalls what scenario I could be speaking of. I think I can see the slight realization in his eyes when he does remember, but it's not enough to spark promise again. If anything, it kills it even more.

"Forget what Hope said," Seth says after a moment. "I'm only guessing as to what you're referring to, and I have to say, I'm slightly disappointed that you think I'd confess my feelings for you to someone other than you first." He leans back against the kitchen counter and crosses his arms. "I'm not in high school anymore, Merc. I don't call up my buddies just to tell them I've got a crush on some amazing girl, and I most certainly don't go to my wife's sister and spill all my emotions to her." He pauses for a moment to look over my expression and then sighs. "You really think I'd do that?"

I feel about the size of a sea cucumber right now, and any minute, Seth is going to squash me under his foot. I feel stupid. But, when that familiar heat begins to simmer inside my chest, I know I'm about to blow.

"What else was I supposed to believe?" I say harshly, though my voice is even—almost calm. "You never talk to me. I told you I loved you, Seth. I told you I loved you, and do you remember what you did?... you said 'thank you!' Are you kidding me? Maybe I should have walked away right then and there. Maybe I should have signed your stupid divorce papers and been done with all your little mind tricks. I'm sick of not knowing what's going on in your head. I'm tired of feeling like you're a stranger that I have to tiptoe around. I'm tired of waiting for you to give the go-ahead on anything. I can't touch you, or love you, or kiss you without some level of fear that you'll push me away. Do you know how that feels? Do you have any idea—"

"Stop," I hear Seth say softly in the midst of my heated ramblings.

I freeze, angry eyes focusing in on his sorrow-filled ones.

"Please stop," he says again, his words hoarse as he pushes his way from the counter to slide his fingers over my wrist.

I barely blink as I shake his touch away. He furrows his brows at me as he lifts his hands away in surrender. I watch as he pinches the bridge of his nose between two fingers and groans. I want to slap him. Actually, as I watch his throat muscles tighten around a growl of frustration, I feel a desire to karate chop his windpipe. I love the guy, but I'm freakin' mad right now. I want him to feel my pain, and since he doesn't reciprocate my love, then the only way to hurt him is physically.

With rage generating the movement in my hand, I curl my fingers into my palm and punch Seth square in the jaw. He stumbles slightly, his hand rising to cover the red skin that is a result of my fist. His angry eyes find mine and for a moment I actually fear for my life. He steps closer, closing the gap between us as I pull my throbbing fist to my chest.

I know he'd never lay an abusive finger on me, but at that moment I'm preparing for him to erupt in a fit of passionate fury. His gaze is like a laser, melting me to the floor. I can't move, and I can barely breathe. The pulsing in my aching fist matches the punch of my heart against my ribcage, but other than that, I feel nothing. I'm just waiting for the attack that I don't feel that I deserve.

But I'm not at all expecting Seth's face to fall as he drags my body to his chest and drops his face into the crook of my neck. My body is as stiff as a corpse as my mind fights to comprehend what's actually happening. It's not until a damp warmth seeps into my t-shirt that I realize with horror what exactly is going on.

The sensation pulls me from my stupor and I find my arms winding themselves around Seth's waist as he trembles in my grasp.

"I'm sorry," he murmurs, his voice thick with emotions I didn't even know he carried. "I'm so sorry."

And then his hands are winding their way into my hair as he lays kisses against my ragged pulse. With timid movements, he kisses his way up my neck, along my jaw, and then freezes just above my lips. His watery eyes find my own and my heart melts into a puddle of compassion. To see him so broken. I know it's not the punch that wounded him, it was the emotions behind the punch that broke him. I ponder why I didn't punch him sooner if this was the reaction I'd get.

I continue to look into the deep green pools of misery shining back at me. They're asking for permission this time, but I refuse to give it. This time, I want to initiate things without the fear of rejection. I know Seth can sense this too, because he remains just a breath away, unmoving. We continue to let the air from our lungs mingle in the space between us until I finally snake my arm up his neck and pull him to me.

He doesn't resist. He doesn't pull back. He doesn't stiffen.

For the first time in far too long, Seth is like putty in my hands. He willingly lets my hands slide along his capable arms, over his taut shoulders, and down the front of his chest where I can feel his heart pounding for release beneath my fingers.

Minutes pass and Seth doesn't even try to escape my hold. I even feel like I could carry this moment of passion into the bedroom, but I actually don't want that. This is the beginning for us, right? It almost seems like we'd be moving too quickly if we took that step.

So, with reluctance, I let the heat simmer down, until our lips are once again just dancing with a sweet grace, and then I end it by pulling back. I smile up at Seth as I wipe my thumb beneath his eye, erasing a single tear with one simple swipe.

It's this action that has a chuckle bursting from his lips, and he bends his head down in a mixture of humor and embarrassment. It's adorable to see him like this. Why was he trying so hard to remain strong before? If I'd seen this side of him earlier, things could have been so different.

"I'm sorry," he laughs again, rubbing both hands over his face with a relieving inhale. "That was not how I imagined this morning going down."

"Oh yeah," I inquire. "How'd you imagine it then?"

"Pancakes." The one word is accompanied by a puppy dog quirk of his brow as he turns slightly to reveal the plate of cooled pancakes behind him.

Now it's my turn to erupt in laughter.

"I think that sounds like a magical way to end our morning," I tell him, reaching a hand up to slide my fingers tenderly over his jaw. "Sorry about this, by the way."

"Naw," he mutters, waving me off. "I absolutely deserved that. Besides," he says, picking up the plate of blueberry-dotted pancakes. "You punch like a girl." With this, he's hightailing it out of the kitchen in hopes of escaping my wrath.

"And yet, my girly punch made you cry," I holler after him.

"I didn't cry because you punched me," he defends, sliding our breakfast onto the dining room table and then turning to face me. "If you want proof, I'll gladly let you punch the other side." He motions to his right jaw, tempting me to go for it.

"Fine," I say with a smile as I hurry to take him up on the offer.

The moment he sees the heat in my eyes, he lets out a yelp and dodges my advances by scurrying down the hallway and into the bedroom. I hobble after him and hear the lock click into place just as I reach the barrier. Laughter leaves my lips without any holding back.

"Sure seems like you're scared of my girly punch," I goad, tapping my fingernails—or nubs, if you wanna be precise—against the wood of the door.

"Well, I'd prefer not to have any more bruises when our company comes over tonight," Seth's muffled voice announces from inside our bedroom.

"What company?" I ask, pausing my evil nail-drumming against the door.

"Yeah..." I can almost hear the sheepishness in his voice in that single word. "I had planned on mentioning it the moment you woke up, but then I got a little caught up in the heat of the moment."

"Stop giving excuses," I tease. "What company?"

"I, uh..."

I see the doorknob twist and the lock pops as he opens the door. His head peers out and when he realizes that my intentions to harm him are forgotten, he swings the door open and places a hand on the doorframe.

"I invited Tracy to dinner," he tells me. "I haven't confirmed yet because I wanted to make sure you were okay with it, but she really wants to meet you."

My stomach twists with the news, but I push the sensation down.

"Um... okay," I say with a nod.

I suddenly realize that I have nothing to fear. Seth was honest with me and even let me read their texts. It's clear that there was nothing going on between them then, and the fact that he wants me to meet her and she wants to meet me should be proof that there's nothing going on between them now. This realization settles my nerves slightly.

"Also," he says, dropping his hand from the doorframe and making a move towards the breakfast table, "She's bringing her daughter."