“Will you marry me, Baxter Baker?” Paxton asked, formally. I swallowed the lump in my throat. I thought back on the last year together. Paxton supported me, loved me, and made me laugh. He was quick to anger but even quicker to soothe—his ire rarely ever pointed in my direction. Despite his gruff exterior he was excellent at communicating and every day he got better about telling me his feelings, just as I got better at telling him mine. After a year in therapy I knew a lot of my issues stemmed from the fear that nothing would be permanent—people died, life moved on, things changed…but Paxton.
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