You’re in the air, the breeze from the open hotel room window fanning through your hair. You can barely hear the sounds of the city down below as your longtime boyfriend, Marty Mauser, sings Baby, I Love You by The Ronnettes very, very loudly to you. He absolutely cannot take his eyes off of you—the way your candy-coated giggles echo through the room, or how your smile goes straight to his heart, making it skip about two beats. You swear just then you could hear the voices of other hotel guests griping just outside of your door, but that means nothing to the two of you at the moment. The world seems to vanish away: you and Marty together somewhere in heaven or New York City. Nothing seems to matter at all when you’re in his arms.

Your feet hit the floor gently. He grabs your hand and twirls you around the room, your dress fanning around your waist, and in the blink of an eye he’s pulling you into a dip—your spine arched, his grip firm enough to promise you won’t fall. He stares at you for a moment with those sweet, oceanic eyes that make your insides melt away like cotton candy. His gaze softens at the way you stare back up at him with eyes that could kill any man that ever lays his gaze upon them.

“You’re obsessed,” you say faintly, wrinkling your nose playfully.

“Who wouldn’t be?” he returns. A small smirk creeps up the side of his lips, and you lean in and press a delicate, butterfly kiss to it.

And before you know it, you’re back up in the air—his voice even louder than before as he sings away, and away, and away—because, “Baby, I love you.”