After Ryan had fallen asleep, I got off the floor. I pulled my clothes on and went downstairs to the kitchen to get something to eat. All there was in the refrigerator was a jar of pickles and some beers. I checked the freezer – nothing. I checked the cabinet and all I found was a dead mouse. I screamed and slammed the cabinet shut.

"Caroline?"

I jumped. "Oh, my God, you scared me."

Ryan raised his eyebrows. "I scared you? You just screamed the loudest I think I've ever heard anyone scream." He laughed.

"Well, there's a dead mouse in your cabinet!" I paused. Ryan laughed harder. "And you have absolutely no food."

"Do you want to go to get some food?" he asked me, still snickering.

"Yeah. I'm starving."

He reached into his pocket for his car keys. "Okay, then. Let's go!" He clapped.

"You're not going to do anything about this?" I asked him, pointing at the cabinet.

"Nope."

"It's going to start to smell soon."

"Oh, well."

"You're going to make me clean it up, aren't you."

A smile stretched across his face. "Yep!"

"Fine."

I cleaned out the cabinet with a tongs I found in a drawer and then we were on our way. It was about three in the afternoon when we pulled into the parking lot of the diner that me and Travis had eaten at several weeks ago.

As I was looking at the sticky menu, Ryan was messing around with the mini jukebox on the table. He turned to a song I instantly recognized. After the first verse had ended, Ryan began to sing along. "Touching you, touching me!" He grabbed a spoon and used it as a microphone. "Sweet Caroline! BAH BAH BAH – "

"No," I said, smiling.

"Why not?" he asked, bouncing around in the booth.

"Because, that song gets so old. Do you want to know how many people sing that to me?" I said, rolling my eyes.

"Yeah," he responded, still bouncing around.

"Too many."

Ryan sang even louder. People started staring at us.

"Ryan! Stop singing! People are looking at you!" I giggled.

He stopped for a second, only to say, "So," then kept on singing.

After we finished eating and I finally got Ryan to stop singing, we headed back to my house. As we drove down my street, I noticed a car in the spot where Ryan usually parked his truck – in the street directly in front of the walkway.

"Who's in my spot?" Ryan asked me quietly, pulling up behind the white car.

"I have no idea," I responded, checking out the car.