It ends with a puppy.

Well, not really.

Romantic comedies might end with a dramatic score and the boy getting the girl, but it's then, after the credits roll, that real life begins.

This isn't about endings.

It's about beginning.

It begins with a new hire.

Shauna seems excited. They'd been swamped with new patients and she had complained loudly about migraine clusters until it got to the point where she took three 'mental health days' in a row that they realised that a temp was no replacement for a dedicated receptionist.

Especially if they smelled like old socks.

Dr Shulman narrows down the candidates, with everyone throwing in their two cents. Must be young (Mindy), must be detail orientated (Danny), must be attractive (Jeremy). Shauna insists on being part of the interview process as she refuses to work with someone prettier/smarter/who will annoy the ever-loving crap out of her.

The winning candidate is 23-year-old recent community college medical administration graduate, Betsy Putch.

And when she walks in, Jeremy comes to the conclusion that she is quite perfect.

First impressions are misleading.

The new girl is cute, that's a unanimous agreement. Competent to the point of borderline OCD, which Danny argues is a positive – there's nothing wrong with dedication to your work.

Mindy and Shauna agree; she is sweet and endearing, but weird.

Weird, Jeremy can handle. Weird is something he thrives on.

"Don't you dare," Shauna scolds in the break room. This comes after his feigned interest in her plan to get a pet and her rigid body corporate by-laws forbidding her from doing so. All the while trying to work out whether there was something wrong with him for finding her short skirt and cat sweater so bloody arousing.

"Don't I dare what?" Jeremy plays the innocent card.

"Look, Doctor Reed, I may have been crystal clear on the arrangements of our brief affair-"

"Well, it wasn't that brief-"

Shauna raises her hand.

"Not the issue here," Shauna frowns, "the issue is that you are putting your moves on Betsy, who is too sweet and too naïve to see your game, let alone play it."

"Well, if you put it like that, can you really blame me?" he shrugs with a smirk. Shauna groans.

"Yes. You should know better. But you're an idiot who doesn't, so listen up." Shauna stares him down, defiantly.

"For as long as I am working here, if I see you hitting on her, I'll tell Doctor Castellano. Who sees that girl like the little sister he never had. So he will beat you up. Got it?"

"Okay," he raises his hands in surrender, "I get it."

(He starts looking for loopholes.)

Mindy breaks up with her long-term boyfriend so he embarks on that adventure.

And it's fun, at first. Her self-esteem isn't great and emotional manipulation comes easy to both of them, so it's almost like a sport. Not a great sport, but, unlike most of those in this country, he can actually understand the rules.

(And, you know, he shares her fondness for British romantic comedies and maybe he considers himself a bit of a Hugh Grant – minus the prostitutes and whatnot…)

But she asks questions. Too many questions. The kind of questions where there's ultimately no correct answer.

"Who do you think is the most attractive in the office?"

Jeremy groans. Her idea of bedroom talk leaves much to be desired.

"Mindy, are you really asking me this?"

"Come on," she giggles, "it's an easy question."

"Well, you know what they say," he leans close to her ear, "flattery will get you everywhere."

He kisses her, hoping to provide a distraction and avoid answering her question. But she's persistent; he'll give her that.

"Uh, I can't help but notice that you didn't actually answer my question."

"Mindy-"

"No," she interrupts, growing angry, "you didn't answer my question, and so you must think I'm NOT the most attractive in the office. Tell me, Jeremy, who is it then? Is it Shauna? Of course it's Shauna. I'm such an idiot…"

"This is a no-win situation you've put me in, Mindy," Jeremy groans, flopping back onto the multitude of pillows (and probably other objects), "I honestly don't know how you expect me to respond."

"How about the truth, man?" she snaps, "Just say it – Shauna's the most attractive in the office."

"Well, if I said that, Mindy, it would be false."

"If she's not, than who…" it clicks and Jeremy wishes he'd left when the whole damn conversation started.

"…Betsy?"

His silence is answer enough.

"You think Betsy is the most attractive? Oh my god, are you serious?" At this point, she's full on screeching. "Are you in love with her? You did give her that turtle, which was, like, the most thoughtful gift I've ever seen a man give a woman outside of a romantic comedy. And you accompanied her home, despite the fact that you could have easily gone home with the ridiculously hot waitress-slash-dancer."

"She's a friend, Mindy," he insists, "unlike you and I, we've actually had a real conversation. So I know things. And maybe if you and Shauna hadn't gotten her absolutely drunk on long island iced teas – which, sidenote, she thought was actually iced tea – I wouldn't have had to practically carry her home. So I'd appreciate it if you wouldn't jump to conclusions about my own very subjective opinions of attractiveness."

He takes a deep breath and rolls off the bed, grabbing his pants from the floor.

"What are you doing?" Mindy demands.

"I'm going home, obviously," he sighs, buttoning his shirt, "this evening was not quite what I had envisioned."

"Fine, go," she replies stubbornly, "but if in, like, five years time, you guys are married with kids called something like Penelope or Charles or Rosalie, and living in a brownstone, I am going to hit you in the face."

"Fine!" he snaps.

"And don't think that by saying 'fine' means you get the last word!"

He's already out the door.

Danny's lurking in the doorway to his office.

"If you've got something to say…" Jeremy sighs. Of course he does. The whole office does.

"So you're going to Betsy's for Thanksgiving?"

"Yes I am."

"Huh." He pauses, fixing Jeremy with a hard look.

"What's your agenda?"

"Excuse me?"

"If I find out that you're trying to sleep with her-"

"Believe it or not," Jeremy interrupts, "there is no agenda. I don't have any family here and while I might have a bounty of female companions, I don't have a lot of 'friends'. She was gracious enough to ask and I accepted."

"So it's a friend thing? Mindy said something once about how you were in love with her?"

"Mindy's being dramatic. Like always." Jeremy sighs.

Danny nods.

"That's more believable."

"She's a sweet girl," Jeremy says quietly, "I don't want to hurt her."

They watch her flit across the room and she graces them with a big smile.

(There's a tightening in his stomach that he doesn't understand.)

She makes him want to be better. A better doctor, a better person. He alternates between being disgusted with himself to thinking maybe it's a good thing. Maybe it's all a part of becoming the man he was meant to be and she's his key to that.

It's Christmas. And Mindy's party is winding down for the second time that night. Morgan's singing a slightly inappropriate rendition of Silent Night and if it were any other party and he would have abandoned ship hours ago. But he's getting used to this loyalty thing and looking out for people other than himself. So he stays until the end. And for him the end is him sitting on the couch, Betsy beside him, falling asleep on his shoulder.

In short, it's not the worst thing in the world.

"Hey," he murmurs, shaking her gently, "lets get you home."

She doesn't resist when he wraps her jacket around her shoulders. Nor does she protest when he leads her downstairs to the street, her hand in the crook on his arm as he hails a cab.

"Where to?" the driver asks and Betsy murmurs her address. Jeremy cringes. It's not a safe part of town and she lives alone.

He doesn't know why he's doing this. Shauna and her police officer boyfriend would have shared a cab with her. Hell, he doesn't even live anywhere near her. But his overwhelming urge to protect her keeps rearing its ugly head. He's not her father (though he does own one of his shirts). He's not her brother or her boyfriend.

But he's something. And with her arm still entwined with his, and her breath warm on his neck, he's quite curious to find out.

It's an easy friendship.

He's not used to that. Camaraderie at boarding school is one thing; long lasting bonds are another. Sure, there's Facebook and alumni newsletters and his mother, her clipped, cold voice an ocean away prattling on about who married who and how an unmarried man at his age does nothing but raise questions.

He sends his nieces and nephews little gifts every month; small trinkets that declare to his family I am happy and well and surviving without you. Their thank you notes contain crystal clear subtext; liar.

"Do you miss them?"

She doesn't stumble over her questions. It's an honest curiosity and he can't blame her for that. Not really, not when she shares every aspect of her life with him so freely. Perched on his island counter, she observes as he chops vegetables, stealing carrot sticks, giggling as he playfully shoos her away.

"Miss who?"

She nods at a photo behind him, pinned to his fridge. Recently sent to him by his sister-in-law, it was a photo taken on one of their recent trips to the coast. Not one for displaying mementos, he kept it for two reasons. One; women like seeing the kid-friendly side of him (who knew?). Two; it struck him as a lovely moment of genuine happiness, a family tableau he himself had never really, truly experienced, but wonderful to see his brother had managed to overcome their failures as a family and create one for himself. It was inspiring. If his brother could do it, why couldn't he?

"I suppose," he muses, placing down the knife, meeting her eyes, "I had a very different childhood to yours, Betsy. I do love my family, but it's not easy to love them."

She places her small hand on his shoulder.

"What's broken can always be fixed."

He smiles, squeezing her hand. It's another one of those moments that catch him off guard and maybe her too; she quickly removes her hand to jump off the counter, hair falling in her eyes and turning her head away in order to hide the blush gracing her cheeks.

"I'll set the table," she manoeuvres around his kitchen effortlessly, "you get a move on. Doctor Who's nearly on."

He glances back at the photo and smiles.

He doesn't have much to do with the midwives. That's Mindy and Danny's feud, not his. He knows, attractiveness-wise, he's batting sixes and they're barely making if off the pitch.

So when Brendan and Duncan Deslaurier corner him at his favourite teashop, he's not really in the mood.

"Look, gentlemen," he takes a sip of his earl grey, "while I come from a family who are currently engaged in a multi-generational feud between three other families, I have no interest in keeping up the tradition over here. So for all feud-related matters, I direct you to my colleagues, Doctors Castellano and Lahiri."

"Oh, this isn't about the feud," Brendan replies calmly, "which Duncan and I don't recognise, for the record. It's about your receptionist."

"Shauna resigned about a month ago-"

"The other one," the usually silent Duncan interrupts, "Betsy."

"Betsy?" Jeremy nearly spills his tea, "What about her? What do you want?"

"My brother here," Brendan's smirk is barely perceptive, but it's there, "wants to ask her out. So we came to you for advice."

"I am not giving you advice on how to seduce my receptionist," Jeremy snaps, maybe a bit too harshly. Duncan's face falls slightly.

"Your receptionist?" Brendan stares at him, gaze questioning, "A bit possessive, don't you think, Doctor?"

"Look here," Jeremy stands, fuming, "Betsy is a sweet, kind-hearted girl. She deserves better than whatever you are offering."

"Better?" Brendan calls after him, his question forcing Jeremy to pause before he reaches the door, "Like you, Reed? You honestly believe that one day you'll get sick of bedding models and socialites and she'll be the answer to everything you're looking for?"

He's out the door before Deslarier finishes his thought.

"Who is she?"

His brother's tone is friendly, but he prepares himself for an interrogation nonetheless. Thousands of kilometres and an ocean between them, but his voice is crystal clear down the line.

"Are you going to analyse me, Johnny?" Jeremy sighs. In the background he can hear the sounds of screaming children and cartoons. It's inviting, more so than the silence on his end.

"I don't need to call you to do that," his brother chuckles, "just looking at your Facebook is study enough."

"First-class Honours at St Andrews, Doctorate at Oxford and you're wasting your valuable skills on instagram photos I might be tagged in?"

"Sometimes one gets tired of diagnosing neurosis and opts to diagnose the love life of their older brother instead."

Jeremy scoffs.

"You need to go to more royal weddings if you're that bored. And stop sending me invites to play Candy Crush. Go harass your buddy the Duke of Cambridge."

"You're an arse," Johnny smirks down the phone, "an arse who is being particularly evasive."

"You'll need to be more specific, Doctor," Jeremy drawls, "who is who?"

"The girl in the photos," Jeremy can make out the tapping of keys on a keyboard, "Betsy Putch. I'm used to seeing tall blondes in pictures with dreadful filters over the top. This girl, while pretty, is not your type."

"What makes you an expert in what my type is?"

"Your type is disposable," Johnny says, pointedly, "trips to sporting events, concerts, Central Park – activities that centre around a shared experience. Memories. There are no nightclub photos of the two of you. No 'thanks for a great night' written on your wall. Is she your girlfriend?"

"She's a friend," Jeremy emphasises, "we do friend things."

"Okay," Johnny replies, sounding unconvinced, "if you say so."

"I do!" Jeremy snaps, "Bloody hell, Johnny. You're acting like the rest of them."

It's a low blow, but he's sick of all the accusations and assumptions.

"Jeremy…" there's a pause. His brother sighs.

"I just wonder if you're happy over there."

"I am," he insists, "America is...it's great."

"No one thinks you're a failure because you had to go to an American Ivy League University. Lots of people don't get into Oxford and Cambridge. It was still a respectable institution-"

"Johnny," Jeremy interrupts, "I didn't need the pity then and I don't need it now. I'm happy. Truly."

There's something in his brother's goodbye that makes him think he doesn't believe him.

He sees her on a date.

To say that was the awkward part would be a lie.

The awkward part is the fact that he is on a weird quadruple date featuring Mindy and her boyfriend of the week, Gwen and her husband and Alex and Danny, leaving him stuck with Maggie. Well, maybe not stuck because despite her weird sexual aggressiveness, he still wouldn't mind going there. Would really like to go there.

But she's on a date, with a guy that looks a comic book hero in his normal, everyday form. And Jeremy has the irrational urge to fight him.

Mindy, however, invites them to join their little group for drinks. Making their way to a bar around the corner, Jeremy's eyes narrow on the way his hand guides her lower back and the shy, sweet smiles she graces him and only him.

"What are you drinking?" he sidles up to her at the bar. Her date is in a heated discussion with Mindy and her friends about Game of Thrones which is going nowhere because Mindy's only argument centres around the belief that anyone attractive clearly deserves the throne.

"Ginger ale," she shrugs with a smile, "I'm not a good drinker, as you know."

"Is your boyfriend a good drinker?" Jeremy asks casually. Betsy wrinkles her nose.

"Tim?" she glances at him, who is nursing a beer, "when he doesn't have work the next day, I guess."

"And what does 'Tim' do for work?"

"He's a forensic specialist for the NYPD," Betsy explains, "Shauna's boyfriend introduced us."

"Oh, that's nice."

(Lie.)

She excuses herself and returns to their table, taking her place beside her date who casually flings his arm across the back of her chair, engaged in conversation. Jeremy turns to the bartender, orders a scotch, downs it quickly and orders another.

"Are you alright, man?"

Danny looks slightly worried, eyes trained on the second glass the barkeep brings out.

"Peachy." Jeremy bites back.

"You're gripping that glass pretty tight…"

Jeremy lets go with gritted teeth, sparing a glance at the table to see Tim whisper something into Betsy's ear, causing her to giggle.

"What do we really know about Tim?" Jeremy whips his head around, fixing Danny with a glare, "what do you think his intentions are?"

Danny gives him a weird look.

"What are you doing?"

"Nothing, I – "

Out of the corner of his eye, Tim places a gentle kiss on Betsy's cheek. Jeremy throws some money on the counter and without a word to anyone, leaves.

His phone buzzes again and an annoyed Maggie snatches it from his grasp, and reads it aloud.

"'My place, 7pm? You bring dinner…' look, man, I know this is casual, but you can't be making plans with other women while we're naked in my bed."

"Hey now," he throws her a seductive smile, taking his phone and placing it on the bedside table, "don't fret, ma chérie. It's only Betsy."

"That," Maggie sits up, grabbing a shirt draped over her bedside table, "is probably worse."

He gives her a puzzled look and she sighs like he's the stupidest man in the universe.

"For the past month, you've spent a majority of it bitching about Betsy's boyfriend. It's getting old, Reed. Sure, the sex is good. But when it's so clear that you're in love with her-"

"I am not in – "

"Dude," Maggie interrupts his interruption, "I'm not angry. Don't get so defensive, if anything, it's okay. She's really sweet. Hell, she brings out a better side of you. Mindy used to talk about you like you were the devil, and heck, when I first met you; I thought you were just a shallow sleaze. And when all you guys spent the night fighting over Alex and letting that tiny woman push me around through the city, I thought it was just further proof that chivalry was well and truly dead."

"Women: you get mad at us when we offer, you get mad at us when we don't - "

"Shut up," Maggie says sternly, "but when we were in that waiting room, and Betsy was so worried, you totally dropped the Casanova act and you were just real. You were gentle and reassuring and your attention was so focused on her that if Alex wanted to get down to it right then and there, you wouldn't have even noticed."

On the nightstand, his phone buzzes and he wants so desperately to check it. Maggie shakes her head.

"Tell her how you feel," she sighs, "girls like Betsy will find a guy and stay with him. For the long haul. If you don't tell her now, they'll be a ring on her finger and all you'll have is a plus one to the wedding."

"I can't possibly – "

"Yes, you can," Maggie snaps, "What do you have to lose?"

In short: everything.

So he chooses the coward's route; says nothing, continues sleeping with Maggie, and resents himself a little more everyday.

It's Mindy who suggests the cocktail party.

Correction: it's Mindy who suggests he stop being so secretive about his apartment and throw a goddamn party already.

It coincides with his brother's visit stateside – a symposium or something a rather. So he decides to go all out; hires a bartender and gets it professionally catered and sends out proper invites, rather than a Facebook event. He invites his fake friends and work colleagues and hopes he has enough gin to weather the inevitable storm.

"Don't look so grim," Maggie nudges him, drinking her beer straight from the bottle, "try and enjoy yourself. It won't kill you."

Maybe not. But she will. The she being Betsy, wearing a reworked vintage halter dress sans cardigan, displaying her bare shoulders and a delicate (tempting) neckline. He's never loved central heating as much as he does now.

"Still haven't done anything about that, huh?" Maggie observes as Tim appears from nowhere, drinks in hand, Betsy smiling warmly.

"I have not."

"Hmm."

He excuses himself from Maggie and her judgment, making small talk with his fake friends and spending too much time by the makeshift bar. He tries not to watch her, but fails. Thankfully, Morgan draws him into a conversation of a ridiculous nature and he's distracted momentarily.

Until he notices his brother, Johnny, talking to the last person Jeremy wanted him to.

"Johnny," he swoops in, trying not to appear too panicky, "I see you've met my colleague, Betsy."

"Your brother was telling me stories about your childhood," Betsy smiles brightly, "your house in the country sounds so beautiful."

"We had this beagle called Max," Johnny chuckles, "and Jeremy hated going quail hunting. So he spent half the summer training the dog not to retrieve birds and the other half, when our father gave up on the sport, running through the woods with his own four-legged sidekick."

Johnny leans in towards, Betsy, whispering conspiratorially.

"You see, my dear, my brother's always had a…knack for getting what he wants."

Jeremy laughs awkwardly and Betsy smiles, confused, before returning back to Tim. Still laughing, Jeremy roughly grabs his brother by the arm.

"What are you playing at, Johnny?"

"Nothing at all," he pulls his arm away, "what about you?"

"I'm not doing anything," Jeremy snaps, eyes scanning the room to make sure they're not drawing any unwelcome attention.

"Perhaps that's the issue then."

The issue. The issue, as far as he can tell, is too many people trying to tell him how to feel, how to act. How to live his life.

And he's sick of it.

"Betsy," he strides up to her, who is in mid-conversation with Beverly and Tamra, "can I have a word?"

Suddenly anxious, he leads her somewhere quiet. His bedroom, specifically. He closes the door behind him, suddenly all too aware of the silence between them and the intimacy of the space. She's never been in his room, just as he's never been in hers. There was her childhood bedroom, but that seems like a lifetime ago; back when this thing was just a friendship and it didn't eat away at him every single waking moment of the day.

"What is it, Doctor Reed?" she asks, concerned. He must have asked her a hundred times to call him Jeremy outside of the office, but she keeps forgetting and, if he's honest, the professional boundary keeps him in line. He gestures for her to sit and she perches on the end of his bed and god, it makes this worse.

"I don't have a lot of female friends, Betsy," he blurts out, "I have women who I've slept with who I'm on friendly terms with, but not so much friends. So that makes what we have all the more…important to me. You're important to me."

"You're important to me too, Doctor Reed," she replies sweetly. Her hair has come loose from her modest up-do and he resists the urge to push the tendrils back behind her ears.

Frustrated, he groans, pacing the length of the room.

"I'm sorry, Betsy," he mutters, seeing her obvious worry, "I don't think I'm expressing myself well here."

Instead of words, he chooses actions.

Sitting beside her, he takes her face in his hands, rubbing his thumb across her jaw line. Leaning in, he kisses her, gently and apprehensively until he feels her lips respond under his and her hands settle on the back of his neck. Ecstatic with her permission, he deepens the kiss, eliciting little whimpers from her as she shifts closer. One hand goes from her cheek to her waist and oh god, yes, her dress is velvet and this moment is -

He pulls away, breathless, resting his forehead against hers.

"What I'm trying to say," he murmurs, "is that you're perfect. And I love you."

"Jeremy…"

- over.

She pulls herself away, tears pooling in her eyes. Without a word, she runs out the room, the door closing heavily behind her, leaving in him in silence.

Fuck.

"Betsy not in again today?"

For once he's grateful for Danny asking the questions he can't. Mindy shakes her head.

"Her and Tim broke up. She's like, super emotional. I think she went home to her parents for a few days."

He thinks he should feel overjoyed – no more Tim in the picture, but all he feels is shitty. Shitty for making her cry. Shitty for putting her in this situation. He wonders if she's read the texts, listened to the voicemails he's sent. Drunk, pleading, and desperate declarations and god, when did he become so pathetic?

"Are you okay?"

Mindy's standing in front of his desk, concern painted across her features.

"I had breakfast with Maggie and she was asking about your well-being. Is this about your hairline? Because I was just messing with you when I made that comment the other day."

"I don't care about that, Mindy."

Closing the door, Mindy takes a seat.

"Okay, now I'm even more worried. What's going on Jeremy? Why are you acting like someone's set fire to all your hair products?"

"Do you know why Betsy and Tim broke up?" he asks, avoiding eye contact. Mindy looks confused.

"Um, she was blubbering something about she was so confused and that she couldn't be with him and lie to herself…I don't know, there were a lot of tears."

Resting his head in his hands, he moans.

"Oh god."

"Wait," Mindy interrupts, "what did you do to her?"

"I told her I loved her," his voice is muffled by his hands, "and she ran away."

"YOU DID WHAT?!"

Her screech draws the attention of Danny, who bursts in, looking about ready to attack. Seeing nothing that appeared to be of threat, he fixes them both with a scowl.

"Would you two keep the screaming to a minimum? This is a working office-"

"JeremyisinlovewithBetsy!" Mindy says in a rush of breath.

"Oh well, good for him – hold on, what?" Danny's eyes flash with anger, "Reed, did we not discuss this when she first started here?"

"I didn't mean for it to happen," Jeremy moans, "you two have your weird like-hate-sexual thing that keeps throwing you together, so we became friends. And then it became more and then I kissed her and now everything's a disaster."

"You kissed her?!" both Danny and Mindy cry simultaneously.

"Yes," he sighs, "and now she's miserable and it's my fault."

"She's confused," Mindy reassures him, "like, Betsy's probably never had two guys interested her at the same time. It's Bridget Jones, it's Win a Date with Tad Hamilton, it's 10 Things I Hate About You. All the movies she's grown up with have taught her to go with the sweet, dependable, nerdy guy. You don't fit that image at all."

"You have to change her viewpoint," Danny chimes in, frustrated, "If you want her, go get her. Prove to her that you can be what she's looking for."

"Yeah!" Mindy exclaims, "big, dramatic, romantic gestures!"

"What does she want?" Danny asks, leaning forward intently, "What does Betsy really want?"

Jeremy straightens up.

He starts to formulate a plan.

In ends with a puppy.

Well, not really.

The contents of the box he holds whimpers softly and, on second thought, this might be a terrible idea.

It's too late to change his mind. She bounds out of her building, before coming to a halt in front of him.

"Hi Doctor Reed," she says shyly, tightening her scarf. "I, um …"

"Morgan told me you were back in the city. I do hope you enjoyed your time with your family."

It's stilted and awkward and he wants nothing more than to jump off the Brooklyn Bridge.

"I did, thanks."

"I, uh, I'm sorry to hear about you and Tim," Jeremy lies, "he was a nice bloke."

"You're not sorry," Betsy murmurs, "not about Tim."

"Well, no, I'm not," Jeremy admits, "I couldn't care less about Tim. But I care about you."

"Tim was a nice guy," Betsy frowns, "is a nice guy. Breaking up with him was one of the hardest things I've ever had to do and he didn't deserve what I did to him."

"You didn't do anything wrong, it was all me."

"I kissed you back!" Betsy exclaims. He almost jumps in surprise. She takes a deep breath.

"You kissed me and I kissed you back. And I would have kept kissing you if you hadn't have said what you said."

"So it wasn't the kiss that made you run away, but my words?" Jeremy asks, confused.

"You can't just tell a girl you love them so they'll sleep with you," Betsy whispers.

Something inside him dies.

"You think I said what I said so you would sleep with me?"

It's written across her features that he's hit the nail on the head. He feels like such a prick that she thinks he's capable of that. Of toying with her emotions and seducing her during a party, at his home, with her boyfriend in the next room.

"I said what I said because I meant it," he says gently, tilting her chin up to meet his eye line, "I love you, Betsy Putch. You are beautiful and sweet and kind and when I'm with you, I want to be the best version of myself. When I'm with you, I just want you. I'm sorry Tim had to get hurt, but I couldn't live with myself if I didn't tell you. I love you. I love – "

Stepping forward, she silences him with a kiss. It's sweet and gentle and so her that once it's over, he craves it immediately.

"I love you too, Jeremy."

That's all he needs to hear before he's sweeping her into his arms, kissing her like he did that first time. Except it's not a gamble, a declaration with unknown consequences. It's her hand grasping his tie and his hand in her hair and her body pressed up so tightly against his that it's dangerous. It's his tongue probing hers and her quickened breaths and her eyes still closed when he pulls away.

It's a promise.

"Perfection," he murmurs and she giggles, blushing.

"Is that for me?" she points at the box, her smile growing. He picks up the box and she takes off the lid, gasping at its contents.

"Jeremy!" she exclaims, lifting the small beagle puppy from inside, "he's beautiful! But my building doesn't allow pets, remember?"

"But mine does," he chuckles, "so I propose the dog lives with me, but you can visit whenever you desire. Early, late, unannounced – anytime you wish."

She laughs, one arm cradling the puppy, the other arm snaking around his neck.

"Maybe you're the one who's perfect," she smiles and he chuckles, kissing her again.

He knows it's not true. But for her, he wants to be

(It's a beginning.)