I looked him in the eyes when he told me he loved me. He wasn’t shy, he didn’t stutter, and he held my gaze as he said it. I took him seriously, and I listened. I didn’t dare laugh at him, but it was hard not to smile. And as he spoke, the engine of his s***** car ticked like a bomb as it began to cool. His sure and steady breathing matched mine, and I snuck a glance at his hands. Strong, man hands. Hands that would look good holding my hands. When he finished speaking, he waited patiently and confidently for my response. The moment was so expected and inevitable that I almost felt as if part of me was watching the scene unfold from outside the car window. There was no hesitation between his confession – if you could call it that – and my response. I knew how I felt about him, and I knew tons of guy friends who had become boyfriends. It happened all the time. So I told him I loved him too. Of course I told him I loved him.