The Germaphobe Kneels In Dirt

My boyfriend, Calvin, was a severe germaphobe.

When I spoke to him, I had to stand at least ten feet away. Anything I touched had to be wiped down with rubbing alcohol before he would even look at it.

The day he proposed, he refused to get down on one knee because he thought the floor was too dirty. Instead, he just tossed the velvet box onto my lap.

"Erica," he had told me, his voice tight. "I am fighting my own hardwired biological instincts to love you."

And I believed him. Completely.

Until the afternoon our apartment caught fire, trapping my cousin Darcy and me on the balcony.