I'm just approaching her window when I catch a glimpse of her walking through her room. Advancing, I watch as she goes through what I assume is her nightly routine, and I wait. Moving toward her dresser, she pulls out a shirt—but not just any shirt. My shirt. She pulls it out and brings it up to her face before inhaling deeply. The move makes my heart do funny things, things I've never felt, and I can feel my cheeks starting to ache from the massive smile that is taking over my face. My girl not only wants me; she misses me.
