You hit it off pretty well with him over those first few months—well, really well considering it's you and you're just a socially awkward person. You never even had a boyfriend till you were in college, and then it was just a few dates before he broke it off. That's the way it's been ever since. You've never even broken up with anyone before, just been the one who got broken up with. If you were willing to admit it to yourself, you'd realize that that's a truth that's way more painful than you want to think about.

What were you thinking with Will? Who knows, really. You just know that there was that moment—that one, light bulb moment of your life—and you realized that he's been using you this whole time, his fallback when things are bad with Cassandra, and he's never going to do anything but use you. You deserve more than that. You deserve to not be the one doing the asking, to hear it from the man face to face, all alone, private and quiet and special. Not an awkward blow-off in the middle of a crowded hallway on the second day of your new job.

You're a romantic freak—you love Valentine's Day, have all your children's names picked out—but even you always thought it was crap when those trashy novels said that a kiss could open your eyes to feelings you never knew you had. Well, actually, that crap was true.

You just wanted to be alone when you went out into the cold, snowy evening that night, but when he joins you, you realize that maybe being with him is better than being by yourself with your thoughts. You tell him about your existential crisis and catch that look he gives you out of the corner of your eye, like he doesn't know what to do with you and is pretty much floored by everything that comes out of your mouth because it's just so wack. But then the next instant that look changes, when you ask him what his question was and his eyes soften and he can't seem to find the words.

He gives up on finding the right words and steps close, closer than coworkers or even friends—only lovers stand this close. The little twinkly Christmas lights are reflecting in his dark eyes, and didn't you always want to be kissed on an evening like this, with the shivery cold and a white snowy blanket and some twinkly lights? His eyes are asking you if this is okay, if he can lean even closer, and your mind just goes completely blank as you lean forward just the teeniest, tiniest bit, and he takes that as a yes.

He kisses you like it's the first time either of you have ever kissed anyone, gentle and kind and just like everything he is. He borders one side of your face with his hand, the other slipping to your waist and just holding you there, not pulling, not pushing. When he pulls away everything's finally clear.

What were you thinking with Will? Seriously, the guy's great, but he's all about himself, knows he's hot stuff and can pretty much have anyone he wants. Micah's gentle and humble and quiet, but he makes you laugh like it's no one's business, plays off your quirks and adds his own. You're perfect for each other—how did you never see this? You've both cried in front of each other, you get along with his mother—if that's not a deal breaker, you don't know what is. You're both silly and playful, and you always said you wanted to find someone that you could have fun with.

You're thinking that you'd like to bash Will's brains in when he bangs outside and ruins that precious, beautiful moment. The guy won't shut up, won't let you get a word in edgewise—he's smart enough to be a doctor but doesn't notice that he just broke into a once-in-a-lifetime moment. Tyra doesn't help things much either, and you find yourself swept away from Micah when all you want to do is sit down with him and talk about nothing and figure out what the heck is going on. Everything's happening so fast, and you're tearing up just thinking about all the things that should have been said right then.

Your heart seriously leaps when you hear him calling your name. He jogs up behind you, tells Tyra the two of you were right in the middle of an important conversation, he'll give you a ride home, and he drags you off before she can even reply. You're laughing, holding his hand just as tightly as he's holding yours, and he takes you back to where you just kissed, and then you're facing each other again.

He glances around, says, "Will better not come out here again."

You laugh and can't help but agree with that argument. He's holding both your hands now and you're back where you were.

"You kissed me," you murmur at last. How do you even find words for all the things that are in your heart right now?

He nods and suddenly looks really confident because you're certainly not going anywhere and you have a feeling your emotions are written all over your face. "I…" Well, okay, even confidence has its stuttering moments, "I wanted you to know that you're my first choice."

You really are such a sop—are you actually tearing up at those words? You know he sees the emotion, and you see the hope in his eyes. You shrug, because how do you apologize for not feeling the feelings you apparently had the whole time? "You should have been mine."

He's grinning at you, and you figure, why not?

You kiss him again.

Seriously, what were you thinking with Will? You may have once thought that your type was tall and blonde and had a jaw like a hot dentist, but, really, your type is average height so you don't have to stand on your tiptoes to kiss him, dark hair that really looks great next to yours, a gentle smile that makes your heart stir, and quiet eyes that just see you and don't want to do anything but look.

Stop thinking about Will. Just think about Micah.