I had a realization today about my sweetheart man that bears sharing.

26. My sweetheart man won a free house on a bet.

I used to live by myself, and I fancied myself an independent woman in every way. I bought my beautiful home with its wide-open spaces and empty rooms, as palettes waiting for inspiration to color them.

Shortly afterward, I met a man who broke my breaking heart, leaving me to feel as if I would never love again. This man who used to be so important to me now hardly bears mentioning, except in this regard—without him, I wouldn’t have made the dearest friend of perhaps my entire life.

Let me tell you more about this friend. He is what defines the word “dear” to me. I told him how I felt about feeling unloved and loveless inside.

I bet that will change over time, he said.

We’ll see, I conceded, not wanting to be impolite to my then-new friend.

Several months later, enter stage left – my sweetheart man appears in my life. As if by magic, my then-new friend became this dear friend, and then a loved one. Little did I know he had even more diabolical plans….

His progress was slow and stealthy; it all started with the ubiquitous “extra suitcase”. He thought I should have one handy in case I ever needed to travel. (My travel bag fell apart, literally, as soon as I unpacked it in my new home. The wheels actually came off as if in protest!)

Then, he started bringing tools and leaving them here. Recently, I found one of my deep precious drawers in the guest bathroom that was carefully lined with pretty shelf paper now holds drills, brackets, glue and other gizmos I know not their purposes.

Later, I found that he had taken over most of one of the bedrooms and renamed it, calling it “the library”.

I want to make this a library for you. For us.

I happened to get lucky and obtain a mystery shop that allowed me to get reimbursed for 3 gallons of paint, plenty of coverage to repaint a room.

What room to paint?

What about the library? he suggests.

I agree, of course. The library.

_{long pause}

Which room is that again, dear?!

Later, I found that when I would take naps in his presence, piles of my stuff would disappear and get relegated elsewhere. Often, these precious pieces would re-materialize down in the basement. He built shelves and stacked items upon them in logical groups, totally wrecking my previous system of plundering chaos.

He mowed grass and pulled weeds. He rescued a wild iris that grew from a random seed and sprouted from a crack in my sidewalk. He uncovered a large patch of wildflowers struggling to live, right beneath my bedroom window.

Did you know that violets are growing wild right here?! he showed me.

He ran loads of laundry, thus inventing a new clothing item that I affectionately call a “sweater-kini” – the result of putting a wool sweater in the dryer on high heat for 60 minutes. The sleeves stay long but the length shrinks to bikini-level revelations.

His rare books sit in my china cabinet, protected from cats and other calamities. His socks and underwear entwine through mine in the hamper, like lovers holding hands.

In sum, he has moved in – we are doing what I said I wouldn’t do, living together before marriage. With each visit, he leaves more of his spiritual DNA at my address. He tends and fixes and repairs and builds, fences and dreams—flowers and a future.

He is what makes this house a home.

And I wouldn’t have it any other way!