28- Hannah

I’d just gotten out of my paint splattered jeans and T-shirt when I heard tires crunching over the gravel driveway out front. My brain knew this wasn’t a real date, but tell that to my feet practically dancing right off the old hardwood floor that needed to be sanded and refinished. I threw on a cropped sweater and ripped jeans, heading to get the door on bare feet. There was no doorbell, and I wasn’t confident in the front door withstanding a knock from a grown man, so I figured I’d better meet him as he got out of his car.

“Hey, boyfriend!” I called out as I stepped onto the front porch.

Lincoln looked up as he unfolded his frame from one of those quiet electric cars that snuck up on me when I went on my runs. He smiled at me, a lock of his thick, unruly hair sliding onto his forehead. With the vineyard behind him and the golden hour sunlight filtering through the trees in the front yard, he looked like he was posing for a magazine.

“We might need to work on our nicknames,” was all