“Hello, my name is Dennis,” he practiced quietly to himself, pacing back and forth in front of the masses huddled around baggage claim. She was late. Late for their first meeting since that first email sent to him from 2,000 miles across the country months before. It would be the first time he saw her face, heard her sugary laughs, felt the warmth of her skin.

He had wanted to tell her he loved her on the phone so many times, but he thought she would find him crazy, crazy for loving someone he’d never met. Would she look like her pictures? Would her voice be as sweet as it was on the phone? Would she not like him?

He pondered these things as a girl descended the stairs in a bright yellow dress, weighted down by a guitar case and flowery carry ons. She smiled and he knew, it was her.

Before he could say a word, her bags were on the floor, and her rosy lips were against his, her warm arms wrapped around his trembling body.

“Hello, my…” he stammered.

“Nice to finally meet you,” she smiled.