"Leaving so soon?" I peek one eye open when I feel Dean's weight leave the bed beside me.

"Nope, just have to run downstairs and grab something from my trunk. I'll be right back." He tugs on his jeans and pulls a hoodie over his head before stepping into his shoes.

I close my eyes and bury my face back in the pillow I was just cuddling with. Thanks to Dean, I feel better than I ever have after a fight. Though, I don't know if I can handle him at all of my fights if we're going to spend two hours attacking each other afterwards every time. I do have to squeeze in some study time occasionally.

Turning over onto my back, I stretch my arms above my head until my hands meet the wall. Rather than move, I lay just like this, spread out like a starfish taking up the entire bed. I'm too comfortable to care.

Dean returns carrying his backpack and I raise one eyebrow at him. "Are we forming a study group?"

"This area may not be Compton, but I'm still not going to leave my laptop in the car all night," he says, lifting the computer from his bag and gesturing with it for emphasis.

"Ah ha, gotcha."

"Gonna take up the whole bed for the rest of the night, princess?" He's smirking at me and I can't help but grin back.

"I was thinking about it."

At that moment he rests the freezing cold aluminum of the laptop casing against my bare thigh and I nearly leap out of my skin. "Jesus, that's cold! Omigod you're such an ass! You win." I sit up, propping one of the pillows behind my back against the wall and crawl underneath the blanket to warm up since I'm only wearing his t-shirt.

"Why, thank you. I brought this for you anyway," he says as he mirrors my position and sets the laptop between us.

"How come?"

"I finally finished editing all of the pictures I want to include in my final portfolio submission for the semester. I wanted you to take a look before I turn it in." The nerves are visibly radiating from his body. He's biting his thumb nail and looking at me like I'm about to critique his life's work. Essentially, I guess that's exactly what I'm doing. Though, I wouldn't know poor composition from bad lighting so there's a very slim chance that I'll have any criticism to offer. I'm just excited to finally see some photos from our trip.

When the computer boots up, the background surprises me and the smile pulling at my cheeks is completely involuntary.

"It's us," I say, stating the obvious. I'm looking at a grinning, slightly sun kissed version of my self standing cheek to cheek with a beach bum version of Dean. We're both crammed into the center of the photo with the sandy beach and calm ocean surrounding us in the background. We look deliriously happy.

Dean clears his throat quickly. "Here, let me bring up the portfolio for you." He looks a little embarrassed as he taps a few keys and clicks the trackpad. As a window begins to load, he lowers the screen and turns to me. "Look, you're the first person other than classmates and professors to see my professional pictures."

"Not even Danny and your mom?" I ask.

"Not really. They've seen some shots when I was just goofing around, but not the photos I actually plan to do something with professionally. I'm sort of freaking out here so, be gentle okay?" He tries to make light, but I know that he's completely serious about the apprehension he's feeling at sharing this with me. It's similar to the apprehension I felt at having him watch me fight.

He places the laptop on my legs and I slowly open the lid and maximize the screen. From the very first photo I am in awe. Dean definitely has a gift.

The first shot is done in black and white and it's of a sweaty, grimy looking man sitting with his back against a dilapidated concrete wall. There is a plume of smoke curling from his lips to fade into the air around him. He's holding a cigarette in his hand and stares out past the camera at some unknown subject, as if he's lost in thought or a memory. "Wow…," I say under my breathe.

"That's Joe. I met him at the end of the summer. Me and some of the Sigma guys volunteered at this shelter on Skid Row and he would show up, tell stories to whoever would listen, then head out on his way. He was a marine and he lost a lot of friends during his tour in Iraq. My supervisor at the time said he's got post traumatic stress disorder, but if you're willing to listen he'll sit with you for hours and tell you all kinds of stories from his deployment. Some are terrifying, heartbreaking… But he had some hilarious stories about him and his buddies too."

I blink up at Dean and just shake my head a little. There are still so many things I don't know about him, and each new one makes me love him just a little bit more. "He sounds like a really interesting guy. You captured him well. It looks like he's kind of lost in one of his stories."

I scroll through more, equally beautiful, photos until I come across one that makes my breath catch in my chest. I'm standing on the beach with my arms wrapped tightly around my body, my head tipped down. The sun has just crawled past the hills over my shoulder. The look on my face is what stole my breath. I remember this exact moment. It's when I was daydreaming and I first allowed myself to think that I was in love with Dean, and it shows in every pixel on the screen.

I feel my cheeks heat and I quickly scroll to the next photo before Dean can ask any questions. This picture makes me smile for a completely different reason. It's my first time popping up and staying on the board when I was learning to surf. I road the wave all the way to the shore and Dean captured the moment magnificently. I'm slightly bent at the knees with my arms thrown up above me, my head thrown back in sheer joy, water beading off of my skin and glinting in the sunlight. It could easily be a photo in a sports or surfing magazine, it's just that good. He made me look like a professional when in reality it was my first time on a board.

"You're so talented, Dean." I turn my head and see him look away at my words. "I mean it," I say, placing my hand on his leg so he'll turn his attention back to me. "You're gifted. You take these ordinary moments and turn them into the most exquisite pieces of art. Thank you for sharing this with me."

Leaning over I place a kiss on his cheek and give him a reassuring smile. I click through to the last photo in the portfolio slideshow and the screen bounces back to the assortment of albums stored on the computer. Dean begins to take the laptop from me but I grip the sides and pull it away from him when I notice an album titled "J" with the shot of me on the beach as the album cover.

"That's all there is for the portfolio." He tries to push the power button but I hold the laptop out to the side and click on this "J" album before he has a chance to shut it down. The album loads and there are at least fifty or sixty thumbnails. Every one is a picture of me.

"Dean…," I trail off as I open up the slideshow and peer at photos, many of which I was never aware were being taken, some are of the two of us in Carmel. They're not creepy, hiding-behind-a-tree photos. No, it's the complete opposite. They're similar to the photo on the beach. Some I can remember him taking, but I thought he was goofing around and deleting them later. Others, I'm not even aware that he's taking the picture, but the moments he's captured show me at my most vulnerable. Sleeping, concentrating, daydreaming, he has captured every facet of me.

"Are you totally freaked out right now? What am I saying," he jumps off the bed and starts gathering his things, "Of course you're freaked out. 'Oh hey, by the way I take pictures of you when you're not paying attention and I keep them on my computer because I'm obsessively in love with you.' Yeah that's not weird or anything."

I laugh quietly to myself so as not to embarrass him, then I stand and set the laptop down on the bed before I cross the room to him. I place my hands over his and lower the backpack he's clutching back down to the floor. He refuses to meet my eyes so I duck my head to force the contact.

"Hey, look at me." When he refuses, I grab his face in both hands and make him look at me. "I'm not freaked out."

"Right," he scoffs.

"I'm serious! Dean, it's not like you're some creepy stalker guy who sits outside my apartment and follows me around taking pictures from the bushes or something. You're my boyfriend, and I love you. If I could take pictures the way you do I'd have a book filled with shots of you. Probably some really indecent ones, too." Smiling widely I pull his face down to mine and lightly brush my lips against his.

"Those are in my password protected stash," he jokes. "You really aren't totally weirded out?" He rests his forehead against mine and lays his hands on my hips.

"Not in the slightest." I kiss one cheek, then the other. "If anything, I'm flattered. And a little embarrassed. How much time do you spend just staring at me while I'm doing absolutely nothing of any consequence?"

"Everything you do is interesting to me. Plus, you're beautiful. It's impossible not to want to capture every moment I spend with you."

My heart melts a little and I wrap my arms around him, resting my cheek against his chest. I don't know what I did to deserve him, but I'm more grateful now than ever.


"Jess, do you have my navy blue carry on?" Jamie asks, poking his head into my room as I'm trying to finish packing for our three weeks at home.

I yank it out from under my bed and lob it over to him.

"Thanks sis, almost ready?" He takes the liberty of plopping down on my bed, causing my neatly organized piles of clothes to tumble into one big pile of cotton and denim.

"Well, I would be if someone didn't keep interrupting me, and knocking over all of my nicely folded clothes so that I have to refold them." I cast an evil glare over at him and start the arduous task all over again.

"Hey, it's not my fault you waited until the last minute to pack," he says, tossing a ball of socks into my suitcase.

"Oh, says the guy who is just now asking me for his carry on. And for your information, I was waiting on my last load of whites to dry before I started packing my clothes." I tuck the socks into the appropriate compartment and pack away a few camisoles before starting on my sweaters.

"There's your problem. Why would you wash clothes before you go home? Just shove them into a duffle like me and let mom have at it. You know she loves feeling useful."

"I can think of better things for mom to do than wash my yoga pants. She shouldn't have to spend the entire holiday waiting on me hand and foot. God knows she'd never have the time since she'll be busy serving you, your highness."

"Damn skippy. She loves every minute of it, so why would I deprive her of such joy?" There is no arguing with that logic, or his cheesy grin, so I just sigh and lay a couple pairs of jeans in the suitcase and zip it closed.

"What time is Dean getting here with the van?" Jamie asks, making his way to the door with his bag.

"Should be in about an hour. Our flight leaves at three, so we're getting to the airport for twelve thirty." Dean, Danny, Jamie and I are all on the same flight into Philadelphia International so we decided to share a cab to the airport.

"Why you insist on showing up hours early for a flight is beyond me," he mutters as he rounds the corner into the hall.

"Maybe because the FAA recommends a two hour window for check-in on domestic flights!" I yell so that he can hear me on his way back to his room.

Jamie is the quintessential procrastinator when it comes to all forms of travel. He would show up half an hour before his flight if we weren't traveling together. Let's not even begin to discuss his penchant for arriving "fashionably late" to almost everything, including classes. We're completely different in that respect. Walking into a room late is the stuff nightmares are made of in my mind. I would actually end up skipping class all together rather than facing down the professor's glare and the students' attention as I made my way to the back of the room five minutes into the lecture. I shudder just thinking about it.

I spend the next hour checking and rechecking my carry on for all of the essentials, getting an update on the current weather in Philadelphia—a brisk thirty three degrees with blustery winds, oh joy!—and painting my nails to match the pedicure Kelsey gave me last weekend.

My phone buzzes on the coffee table as I finish locking the last window in the apartment. Even three stories up, you can't be too careful.

"Jamie! They're here, let's go!" I yell as I hoist my carry on over my shoulder and slide the handle up on my suitcase.

"Right behind you." He's lugging a huge duffle bag, a giant suitcase, and his carry on through his bedroom doorway and I can't help but roll my eyes.

"Seriously? You're worse than a woman. What could you possibly need in all of those bags for a three week trip home?"

"No judging. Just because I like having options, and you'd stay in the same pair of sweats for a whole week, doesn't make me a bad person." He snags his own phone from the table on his way to meet me at the door.

"No, just a bad traveler. You know they charge for extra bags right?" I dump my stuff outside the apartment door so I can lock the three locks, something we only do when we're leaving for breaks, before we go. Kelsey already headed home last night, dropping Paul off in Anaheim on her way to Newport Beach.

"Yeah, yeah. Small price to pay for not looking like a tool at one of the many parties I'm sure will be happening over the next few weeks." He's holding the elevator door while I finish locking up.

"Suit yourself," I mutter.

"Precisely my point," he says with finality.

I spot Dean as soon as I step off the elevator. He's propping open the security door and rushes over to take my bags, but not before placing a brief but flutter-inducing kiss on my lips.

"Aww, that's sweet, but do ya think I could get a little assistance here?" Jamie comments from behind me.

"Hey diva, you're the one who overpacked." I snatch his duffle from him and make my way to the van behind a chuckling Dean.

Danny helps Dean fit the luggage into the back of the van and we all squeeze in together for the short trip to LAX.

"So is anyone meeting you guys at the airport when we land?" Danny asks, poking his head between mine and Dean's shoulders over the second row of seats.

"Our dad is picking us up since mom still has a week left before the school lets out for the holidays." I glance over at Dean when I say this so that I can gauge his reaction.

As anticipated, his body stiffens and his eyes dart to mine. "So, I'm going to meet your father, your very large and intimidating father, for the first time, in a matter of hours?"

"Did I forget to mention that?" I innocently bat my eyelashes at him. It doesn't diffuse his nerves though. "Stop worrying. He'll love you, because I love you. Even if he hates you, he'll wait to get you alone before he lets you know it."

"Nice, Jess," Jamie laughs from the space behind me.

Danny's face is back in the space next to me and he slaps Dean's shoulder, "Hey that works out nicely. You get to me the scary dad, and she gets to meet mom."

"Wait, what?" My heartbeat accelerates and I feel like my stomach is bottoming out somewhere around my feet.

"Oh man, you didn't tell her?" Danny chuckles and leans back in his seat, leaving me to glare at the side of Dean's head as he conveniently avoids eye contact.

"Did I forget to mention that?" He echoes my earlier words and I narrow my eyes at him.

"Apparently," I mutter.

This is fine. It's completely fine. I was going to meet his mom anyway, we're just bumping the date up a bit. It's really not a big deal. I'll just be meeting the one person whose opinion of me could make or break my relationship with Dean in less than eight hours. And I'm wearing yoga pants and a UCLA hoodie. Awesome. What does a girl have to do to get some fog or a sudden snow storm at Philadelphia International?