Mark rolled over and looked at the clock. Five fourteen. God dammit. She wouldn't be here for another five hours. Too early. He would have black circles under his eyes and would look awful and she would be horrified and she would leave him forever.

No. No. He couldn't think that way. He had to be hopeful. She had already come this far with him. She had come this far and she had been scared and bewildered and upset, but she hadn't rejected him. Yet.

Yet. That's what was killing him. The suspense. It would be better if it was over and done with and she could either be with him or not. The waiting was going to drive him to--

He reached up and turned on the lamp. As if to mock him, the light shone perfectly down, illuminating the normally faint fragile scar across his inner wrist. He snatched his hand back and cradled it against his chest. No. That was a long time ago. Before Sarah. Before Julie, even.

God, he hated that. It reminded him of that book--what was it again? The sequel to Snow Queen, but it was a much smaller volume. What was the name of it? Well, it didn't matter. It was just that character that mattered. The "failed suicide". It was a sign of dishonor. It was bad enough to kill yourself, but even more pathetic if you managed to fuck that up, too. Everyone recommended plastic surgery, but the character didn't want it. He wanted to be reminded of all his failings for some reason. It seemed a bit self-torturous to Mark. He ventured a glance down at his own wrists. Maybe he ought to get that cosmetic repair done himself. It was so pale now that hardly anyone ever noticed, but maybe if it was gone it would be easier for him to forget, too.

Five seventeen. Too early to get out of bed. But he knew he'd never get back to sleep, and he'd get a headache. Then he'd have that attractive pulsing vein down the center of his forehead. Jesus, did anything ever go right?

He pushed up the pillows behind him and sat back against them. He looked around the room. Music? No. He couldn't think of a single CD he was in the mood to hear. Too antsy. Too stressed. The music would just irritate him.

There was a book on the nightstand. A damn good detective novel, plenty of blood and guts, and curvy girls, with their breasts spilling out of their dresses, throwing themselves at the hero. He'd been tearing through it whenever he got a few minutes the last few days, but now it seemed a hollow pastime. He knew he'd never be able to focus on it.

TV? He stared at the dark, silent screen a few feet from the end of the bed. What would even be on at this hour? Infomercials? News? He picked up the remote from the nightstand and clicked it on ESPN. The screen jumped to life, casting unnatural brightness across the room and momentarily hurting his eyes.

When his vision adjusted, he looked at the men in polo shirts walking across the turf. Golf? At five am? He expected at least The World's Strongest Man competition or something mildly distracting to the mind at this hour. With a sigh he flipped through the rest of the channels. Total crap. Too much news, most of it bad, of course. The damn golf. Talk shows featuring white trash, strippers, and hookers. His tired eyes slipped down to the shelf below, and ran over the jumble of tapes and DVDs piled randomly.

The boldly lettered "Eddie Izzard" nearly leapt out at him. Yeah, Eddie. He chuckled. That would work, wouldn't it? He crawled forward and flopped onto the end of the bed, pulling one of the videos out of its box and slipping it into the VCR. He tossed the box on the floor and then turned and crawled back to his comfortable position at the headboard.

He fiddled with the remotes until he got it running, and then there was little Izzard, hopping his way across the screen. "Dress to Kill" had been the first of the comedian's tapes he'd shown Sarah. To test the waters, to see how she reacted. See if she could look beyond the heels and the make-up.

She'd been a little surprised when it started, but then she'd laughed--she'd liked the bit about the squirrel being covered in make-up. And then she'd slowly leaned forward to get a better look at Eddie. He remembered the leaning. Her soft brown hair had slipped forward over her shoulders, falling on either side of the V-neck of her sweater. He'd kept one eye on her the whole time--the more she leaned, the more of her beautiful cleavage he'd gotten to see.

He smiled. That kind of thing happened to him a lot. He'd forget where he was, forget what he was supposed to be doing, because he was too busy looking at her. The first time he'd ever seen her he had just frozen up. Something about her wide brown eyes and her lips--those full lips, which always looked as if they were just about ready to kiss you.

He had been just standing there, next to the rack of ladies' angora sweaters, clutching a pastel pink one to his chest and staring at her. Thinking he needed help, she had walked over, sauntered, really, her gorgeous round hips sliding back and forth in her tight red leather mini.

But he had spoken. He'd quickly told her the sweater was for his mother, and she had smiled a beautiful smile, perfect white teeth with just the slightest gap between the front two that made her all the more charming. "I own this sweater myself," she'd said. And then she'd asked him the size, and he'd told her, truthfully, that he and his mother were pretty close--she was a little smaller, of course, but when he'd lived at home she used to borrow his sweaters all the time.

So Sarah had slipped the angora from his fingers and then held it up to his chest, her own body not more than a few inches away from him. Her beautifully red-painted nails had pressed against his shoulders. He'd looked down, on pretense of checking the fit of the sweater, but really he'd been admiring the fit of her sweater. She'd smelled of sweet perfume and her hair had given off the slightest fragrance of berry--raspberry, maybe. He'd been intoxicated. Every muscle in his body had fought to refrain from pulling her up against him.

And then he'd looked up, and spotted the two of them in the mirror, and he'd seen himself, slightly taller than she was, with the pink sweater draped over his chest. Oh no, he'd thought. Too Ed Wood. Not pink angora. He couldn't.

She'd laughed a little at his expression, mistaking it, and told him the color suited him. It was just a little joke to her; she'd had no idea of the real reason behind his discomfort. "Something more plain?" he'd asked her.

"Chenille, maybe?" she had suggested, moving over to another rack. "It's really soft." She'd picked up a jade green narrow cardigan and held it out to him. "Isn't it nice?"

It was. He'd really liked it; the brush of it against his fingers had sent a little tingle through his body.

He'd nodded, still distracted by her beauty. She'd held the new sweater up, touching him again and sending little bolts of fire across his skin. He'd willed himself not to get too excited...he'd worn his tighter jeans that day and it would have become pretty obvious pretty quickly how he felt about her.

"Well, I'm sure her shoulders aren't nearly as broad as yours," she'd said, looking at the sweater.

And then she'd looked up, directly into his eyes, and she'd flushed, her pretty porcelain cheeks growing pinker than that crazy angora sweater.

A few minutes later, he'd been out the door, jade sweater bought and paid for, and sweet Sarah's phone number tucked safely into his wallet.

That had been six months ago. He didn't know how he'd held out so long, not telling her when it was burning a hole up inside of him, keeping it from her. But she was so good and so wonderful he just didn't want it to end. Not like with Julie--the embarrassment, the humiliation, the screaming and the crying and the accusations. He didn't want to go through that with Sarah. So he'd planned it better this time. Worked away at her a little bit here and there. Tested her boundaries. Found out how far he could stretch them.

The Eddie tapes had done far more good than he ever would have imagined. That first viewing of "Dress to Kill" had enraptured her. He had watched her carefully, watched her move from curious interest to utter fascination. She'd laughed until she cried, holding her sides and falling back on the bed in hysterics. When the tape had ended, and her cheeks were all flushed, and her eyes slightly red from the tears, she'd looked at him and shyly asked if she could borrow it and take it home with her.

"Sounds like you," Sarah had teased him one night, as they watched the tape again.

She'd been cut off by his mouth covering hers. He'd pinned her down on the bed as she giggled, kissing her everywhere, tickling her skin. He'd shut off the TV and they'd made love, right then.

He'd never had so much sex before. She just drove him wild, shorted out any sense of control he had, causing him to grab for her constantly. And she let him. She was just as passionate, curling around him any chance she got, teasing him with her body, fondling him even when they were out in public. She told him such wonderful things, worshipped every part of him, made him feel like some kind of a sex god whenever he was with her.

And all the while he dreamed. Dreamed of making love to her the way he really wanted to. The dream was always a bit hazy, and frayed at the edges, because he couldn't quite get himself to believe in it, to enjoy it too much, because he knew it could never happen. Sarah loved men. What she loved about him was his masculinity; that's what she craved. And he didn't mind that. He liked the way her eyes lit up when he laid on top of her and pushed himself inside of her. He liked the way she ran her hands over his muscled chest and over his straight hips. He would always like it. It's just that he wouldn't mind...if only just once in awhile...if only just once...

He set the razor down and looked in the mirror again. He should stop now. Quit while he was ahead. It was maybe still a bit shadowy just under his chin, but no--it would be all right. It wouldn't do any good to make his skin any rawer than it was.

He took the warm cloth and wiped the remaining traces of gel from his jaw gently. Then he walked back into the bedroom, to his dresser, to grab the after-shave. As he walked past the mirror on his closet door, he rolled his eyes. Very attractive, he thought. Red blotchy face, dark circles under his eyes, faded boxers pushed forward obnoxiously by his erection. Beautiful. Very feminine. He picked up a discarded sock from the floor and whipped it at his image.

He couldn't help a cursing bellow as the after-shave hit his already tingling skin. He jumped up and down a bit, fanning his face and swearing continuously. He slammed the bottle back down on the dresser and made his way back to the bathroom, where he ran cool water over the washcloth, twisted it till it was merely damp, and then held it up to his screaming flesh. It soothed a little as the after-shave effects gradually wore off.

He knelt down and fumbled around in the vanity, then, looking for some kind of eye cream or serum or whatever. He had to have something. His fingers finally discovered a small white bottle that looked promising. He'd gotten it at the Clinique counter, apparently. He remembered he'd bought Sarah a present there, a lipstick and eyeshadow that were her favorite. It was expensive, but she was worth it. When he'd gotten home, he'd opened the bag and discovered a little case of free items they'd thrown in. He'd felt a little guilty about it, but he'd kept it. And Sarah had been more than thrilled with what she received, so they were both happy.

He squeezed the tiny bottle and spread it along the darkened skin under his eyes. He rinsed the washcloth in cool water again, and then took it with him back out to the bedroom.

He didn't look in the mirror again as he walked by. He crawled back into bed, scrunched down onto his stack of pillows, lay the cool washcloth across his tired eyes, and tried to take deep, soothing breaths to the tune of Eddie's rising and falling octaves of voice and humor.

Mark woke up to static. Static on the TV, fog in his head. Groggily he slipped the now dry washcloth from his eyes and looked over at the clock. An hour and a half. An hour and a half before she would be there. An hour and a half before his life truly began. Or ended.

He sat straight up in bed. Fuck... He'd had 5 hours to play with, which had been too much, and now he had just barely enough time to get dressed, let alone get dressed in such a way to impress the woman he loved more than anyone or anything ever in his entire life. He'd never make it. He couldn't do it. He should just call and tell her to forget it, that he wasn't ready. Maybe he could tell her it'd all been a misunderstanding and he could take it back.

He crawled out of bed and shut off the TV. The box for "Definite Article" caught his eye. He picked it up and set it on the dresser. Eddie at his most femme. He needed the inspiration.

He made his way back into the bathroom. Cringing a little, he turned on the light and looked into the mirror.

He sighed in relief. His skin looked smooth, his eyes much less puffy. Whether the eye cream or the sleep had done him more good, he didn't know, and he didn't care. As long as he looked all right.

He pulled off his clothes and slipped into the shower. As the warm water ran over his skin, he couldn't help thinking of Sarah there with him, her beautiful naked body pressed against his.

His hands began to tremble then, as the full magnitude of what was about to happen sunk in further. He could lose her, lose her forever. All because of his stupid psychological or biological or whatever it was...something he couldn't control and couldn't hide. He couldn't keep it from her anymore because he loved her, but by telling her he may have caused her to no longer love him.

He leaned heavily against the shower wall then, his cheek pressed against the cool, damp tile. The water that ran over his face at some point may have mixed with his own tears, but the very masculine core of his being would never admit to such a weakness. He was part woman, even if only he could feel it and see it, but there were some things that the male side of him drew a line on. Crying was number one. Pink angora sweaters was number two. No, maybe false eyelashes--those were really bad.

But she'd spotted it right off. "Yes," he'd answered, unable to get any other words out to explain himself.

She'd sidled up to him, pushing her body against his the way that he liked, the way that made him want her so badly all the time. Her large brown eyes had studied him, curiously at first, then gradually more and more seductively, until she purred quietly, "I like it. I like it very much. It's very Eddie of you."

She'd rubbed against him a bit more, her hands running along his sides and hips. "You did that for me?"

She'd smiled and gazed at him with such adoration he'd hardly been able to stand it. "And you're going out that way?"

"It's more than all right," she'd sighed happily. "It looks good on you; Eddie's right, it does make the eyes kick out."

He reached up and pushed his hair back against the downpour of water. He wondered if she still thought there was anything good about it. But that night had been what had set him off. After that, after she had looked at him that way, and approved of it so much, he couldn't hold back. He should've taken it more slowly, taken more baby steps with her, but he just couldn't keep it from her any longer.

He reached for one of the matching sets of bottles he had set in the corner of the tub the night before. Shampoo, conditioner, liquid soap, all the same fragrance. "Ocean Breeze", whatever that meant. The ocean breeze in reality probably smelled more like fish and salt, but this "Ocean Breeze" was a light, clean scent, not too girly, but not overpoweringly male, either. He sighed. He was beginning to feel like a tranny Goldilocks already: "Not too hot, not too cold, not too frilly, not too bold." Fuck that.

Ten minutes later, he stepped out of the shower, and caught sight of his naked body in the mirror. Normally, it was sort of like a traffic accident--he didn't like to look, but he could never help it. He could think like a girl, dress like a girl, feel like a girl, but the mirror never lied. It always gave him the blatant reality. But today it didn't horrify him as much. The maleness that he had so often hated was what had won over Sarah. He could never truly dislike that half of himself again, knowing what it had accomplished for him.

In fact, he had to face that he soon might hate his feminine half, if it caused him to lose Sarah. He might not be able to forgive himself for that.

But he was jumping ahead again. She hadn't rejected him yet. In fact, she had agreed to come be with him this morning, to have a little breakfast with him and see him the way he wanted her to see him.

Soon, she would be here soon. He toweled off, rubbing himself vigorously. It didn't take him long to run a little gel through his short hair and blast it with the blow dryer. He combed it straight down the back but left it a little tousled on top, with a few pieces pulled down over his forehead and in front of his ears. It was the way Sarah liked Eddie's hair, and he figured he would use that as much as he could. He was willing to do anything to make this work.

He trotted naked through the house to the other bedroom, to where his clothes were laid out. He quickly stepped into the plain white seamless men's underwear and pulled them up to where they clung neatly to his hips. He didn't usually bother with women's underwear--they were difficult to fit into, and he had to face facts that they were never going to look exactly right, for obvious reasons.

Then he pulled on the ankle-length black fitted skirt, with the gorgeous slit up the front that revealed much of his right leg. It was one of his favorites--sexy, but in a classy way. He left his legs bare, and had opted not to wear heels. His toenails had been perfectly shaped and painted a deep purple. It was feminine enough for him, but hopefully not so overwhelming for Sarah.

He took several moments, then, staring at the small-cupped bra lying on the bed. He'd debated about it all night until he'd fell asleep, but he still couldn't decide. He didn't want to get carried away and have her be appalled, but he couldn't hold back on everything. She had to know what she was getting into, he had to be himself.

Then he put on the green sweater, the one Sarah had picked out for him that very first day. It always had been a bit small in the shoulders, but he just left the top two buttons open to leave him room to maneuver, and he'd always thought it looked rather sexy. He hoped she'd think so, too.

He looked at his reflection in the mirrored glass doors and smiled. It was turning out okay. He looked all right. Some of his anxiety faded for a brief moment, but then he glanced at the clock on the wall and realized how little time he had left.

His hands were trembling again when he returned to his bathroom. He could see them shaking in the mirror, and he looked up and saw his anxious expression, his mouth turned down sharply. That had to change. He'd look like some kind of deranged clown with his make-upped face twisted around like that. He closed his eyes for a minute, thinking of Sarah's arms around him, her cheek resting against his shoulder, her soft hair tickling his chin.

God, how he loved her. He reached into the pile of cosmetics he'd arranged, with his nervous fingers, and started to apply his makeup. If he was going to do this, he had to do it right. He wanted so badly to be pretty for her. He wanted so badly for her to like it.

Normally this was his favorite part. He loved to watch the transformation in the mirror. He looked decently masculine in the first place, he thought, but he'd at least been blessed with high cheekbones and a narrow chin. He thought he could pull off femme better than even Eddie could, but Eddie had those killer blue eyes. He was extremely jealous of those eyes. Sarah had waxed poetic on them so often that he almost considered getting colored contacts, but he'd finally decided he was way too lazy to keep up with something like that, and Sarah would know they were fake anyway.

So, he was stuck with pale green. At least the sweater seemed to bring up the tone of his eyes a little, and the eyeliner did make their almond shape look more exotic. He passed the mascara over his lashes only once.

He left the mirror and went to his dresser. Eddie smiled impishly at him from the video box. "Easy for you," Mark chastised. "You've got all the power and money, enough power and money to make Solomon blush." Then he shook his head. You really have lost it. You're quoting Eddie lines to a box.

The top drawer of his dresser was still open from the last time he had sifted through it, and he reached in and pulled out the silver chain Sarah had bought him for a birthday present. Then he slipped two little silver hoop earrings into his ears.

He'd wanted to do his nails but he'd been too upset last night to mess around with it, and now he didn't have enough time. It was okay, they looked all right, his nails were clean--well, as clean as he could get them. Digging around in the dirt all day, planting trees and laying sod, it wasn't easy to keep decent nails. But he'd washed and scraped and filed them and it would have to do. He slipped on a few rings and then went back to the bathroom.

Lip-gloss. He dipped his finger into the little jar and then rubbed it into his lips. They deepened in color, and when he tilted his face into the light, there was a nice subtle shine.

Not that there was time to do more. Before he could even react, he heard Sarah opening the front door with her key.

"Upstairs, honey," he shouted back, his face flushing when he heard his vocal chords squeak from tension.

It was obvious she was just as anxious, because before he made it two steps out of the bathroom she was standing there in front of him, a little breathless from having run up the stairs.

She looked beautiful as always, her curvy figure enhanced by her tight black sweater and long, narrow skirt. Her eyes were wide as she stared at him, not breathing a word.

He couldn't read her. He couldn't see what she was feeling, other than surprise, and he couldn't even tell if it was a good kind of surprise or more like terrible shock.

It wasn't loud or anguished or even very noticeable. The tears just started to slide down her face in a very quiet way, and she didn't utter a single word or make any sound.

He took a step towards her, to comfort her, but then hesitated. She probably thought he was hideous and terrible and wouldn't want him to touch her.

But she saw him move, and she put her hands out for him. His heart nearly jumped out of his chest when he stepped up to her, and she instantly curled against him as always.

Before he could lock his arms around her, though, she pulled back, her cheeks flushed and the slightest embarrassed smile on her lips as she looked down and saw his slightly enhanced pectorals against her own breasts.

He kept one arm tightly around her, holding her hips against his, as he reached up with his other hand and gently wiped the tears from her cheeks. "I'm sorry, Sarah," he whispered, feeling like crying himself. "Please don't cry. I'm sorry."

She shook her head a little, and while her tears flowed afresh, she managed to deepen her smile. Her glistening eyes were wide as she looked up at him. "No, I just--I just didn't expect--" Her cheeks blushed to an even deeper red. "You're so beautiful. I didn't know what to--I didn't know how--" she faltered, but lifted her own fingers up to run them delicately over his lightly rouged cheek. "I loved you so much the way that you were I didn't know if I could like you any other way."

Beautiful. She thinks I'm beautiful. His mind scrambled with the thought, racing this way and that, unsure he had even heard her correctly. "What?" he asked.

He stared at her, afraid to believe it. "You think I'm--" He couldn't even say it. "You don't hate me?"

Her expression instantly changed, her eyes lighting with compassion. "Oh no, I could never hate you! Did you think that? Oh God, did I make you think that??"

He shook his head. "No, but it's--it's--" His jaw tightened, and he grew angry with himself for being a stammering idiot. "It's happened to me before. I know it's not fair to judge you by someone else, but I wouldn't blame you. I wouldn't blame you for hating me."

She continued to look him over, taking in his eyes and his lips and his tight sweater. "Is this--" she began quietly-- "is this why Julie left you?"

Thinking of that always made his blood run cold. Speech left him, and all he could do was slowly nod.

She looked up at him with such a sweet expression of understanding that he could hardly bear it. "Is that why you didn't tell me? You were afraid?"

"I wish you had told me sooner," she continued softly. "I understand why you didn't, and I'm not mad, but you need to understand that this isn't easy for me to suddenly find out about."

He nodded again, afraid to speak, afraid of every word that came out of her mouth.

She sighed, then, and gently caressed his collarbone as she stared at it. "I really loved you the way that you were," she almost whispered.

His voice was hoarse as he finally forced himself to say something. "I can still be that way. But do you think you might--do you think you might be able to like me this way, too?" At her hesitation, he hurried on, "Just once in awhile? Not all the time, I don't have to do it all the time. I just can't help it, I have to do it sometimes. Sometimes I have to." Just shut up, Mark, shut up!

She viewed him with uncertainty, looking into his eyes, then staring down again at his green sweater. "I don't know," she said. "It's kind of like starting over." Her eyes came back up to his. "I think you're attractive, but it's like you're someone else. I feel strange. Like I know you but I don't."

He nodded, and for the first time he felt a glimmer of hope. "I--I know. But it's still me, Sarah. Everything you like about me is still here. It's just that you haven't seen everything. You just haven't seen all of me. But everything you know is still the truth and it's still here."

"It's just strange," she murmured, as she gently ran her hand along his shoulder. "Not as strange, I think, since Eddie--" Then she smiled and looked up at him. "You were testing me, weren't you? With Eddie?"

She nodded herself, now. "It was a good idea. I've changed, I think, since seeing him. It's changed the way I look at everyone."

"But I just need to get to know you again." With a deep flush rising on her cheeks, she let her fingers trail down from his shoulder and gently glide over his extra curves.

Just seeing her hand move over him like that nearly knocked the breath out of him. She was so soft and warm against his body, and she was caressing him everywhere. And she said you were beautiful. He couldn't help it. His mind latched on to that beautiful dream and a bolt of desire ripped through his body.

It didn't take her long, pressed up against his body, to feel his arousal pushing against her. She closed her eyes and squirmed a little, her smile returning. "I see some things aren't any different."

Now it was his turn to blush. "Sorry," he mumbled. "That's something I definitely can't help."

He could feel his heart pounding a mile a minute now. Slow down, Mark, don't scare her. Don't push it. He took a deep breath. "Do you want me to change, now? I can get out of these clothes, if you want me to."

She pulled back and looked at him a bit shyly. He hadn't noticed it before, but she now brought up her left hand, in which she was clutching her own pink angora sweater. "I thought--I thought you might like to try this on. When I thought back on it, it seemed you really liked it."

He stared at her, unable to speak. And as much as his masculine side screamed in protest, one tiny tear rimmed around his left eye and slipped down his cheek.

"Oh! Have I offended you?" she asked, her voice filled with worry. "Should I not have brought it?" She reached up and gently kissed his cheek as another tear slipped down after the second. "Don't. Don't do that. You'll ruin all your make-up."

His hands wove up into her hair and he held her face against his. "You're being too good to me. I didn't--" He pulled her away and looked into her beautiful eyes. "Please don't pity me or just be nice to me. Tell me how you really feel."

She looked at him unflinchingly. "I don't know, honey. I know I love you and I know you look beautiful. I think I could like you this way and I want to try. Is it enough right now for me to just try?"

He nodded, his jaw tense as he forcibly stopped himself from any more ridiculous humiliating crying. "Whatever you want, Sarah." He was only able to whisper. "I love you and I don't want to lose you. Just tell me what to do and I'll do it."

He swallowed nervously. "Yes. But against my better judgement. You don't think it's too much?"

Her cheeks burning brightly red, she looked down at his chest, her long lashes obscuring her eyes from his view. "Why don't you try it on and we'll see?" With a slightly trembling hand, she unbuttoned another button of his sweater and then pushed it off one shoulder, revealing the delicate lace strap of his bra.

His breath caught in his throat and he reflexively tightened his grip on her. "Are you sure?" he choked out.

She nodded, looping two fingers around the bra strap and tugging gently. "I want to see all that you did for me. I want to see how pretty you are."

With a low moan he kissed her, his mouth closing hungrily over hers, the taste of his own lipstick mingling in with hers and sending him to new heights of desire. He dragged her backwards with him until they tumbled onto the bed, her wonderful soft body on top of his.

He held her and kissed her and caressed every part of her body. And then her hand reached down and shoved away the fabric of his skirt, reaching through to touch his bare leg. She sighed a little, into his mouth, and pushed her own smooth, warm thigh against his.

Then his head filled with that wonderful dream, that incredible dream, only now the edges weren't blurred or frayed because it was real, it was really happening. He was beautiful, and she was beautiful, and she was in his arms and in his bed. And he thought he would faint from happiness.

And he thanked the heavens for Sarah, and for Eddie, and for pink angora sweaters. And for the joy one feels when they find someone to love.

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