By: Megan Hart

“It wasn’t that trick you do with your tongue,” Sam said. “You already knew that when I met you.”

I laughed. “Not that. I learned that I didn’t want to live without you, but that I could.”

“I’m not so sure that’s a good thing.” Sam kissed me again.

“It’s a good thing. A very good thing. Because before you, I was so afraid of being unable to live without someone, I could never live with someone.”

At three in the morning, things are easier to say and understand even when they don’t make as much sense. Sam knew this because he was a master at middle-of-the-night philosophy. His arms pulled me tighter against him, and for once, he was silent.

“Go to sleep,” I told him, and I think he did.

There’d be time later for talking. For listening. Time to negotiate. When daylight came, I might even be angry with him again, but that would be all right, too, because no matter what happened, I knew I wouldn’t regret this moment, now. Sam had told me, One must have sorrow to truly appreciate joy.

For the first time ever, it seemed like a fair trade.

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