Page 70 of Romantic

“That you thought I was nice and all, but that you would never want to date me.”

“‘That I would never want to’—I didn’t mean that! Annie, if you only knew how much I’ve wanted—I just said it to stop Pepper from pulling all her pranks.”

“I was hoping you didn’t mean it,” I say, smiling at his confusion and the desperate look on his face. “But at the time, I believed you. Then you came for me on the mountain—and that kiss . . . it changed everything. And it felt like maybe you were interested in being more than friends.”

His smile is a beautiful thing. “Definitely.”

I’m not sure how he does it, but Brandon packs so much meaning into one word. Definitely is one of the swooniest things anyone has ever said to me.

***

“Hi!” He sounds a little nervous when he video-calls the next evening.

“Hi!” We stare at each other for a moment smiling.

“Anyone ever tell you you’re beautiful?” he says.

“You did . . . this morning.”

“It’s still true.” I worried at first that all the sweet compliments Brandon gave me while he was sick would disappear as he got better. But he’s recovering rapidly, and the compliments haven’t let up.

“That’s good to hear. I didn’t have time to do my hair before my shift. There was this guy who called this morning, and I spent all my time talking to him.”

“That jerk!”

“Yeah, well, he’s kind of cute.”

“Cute, huh?”

“Normally he’s straight up handsome. But when he’s sick and talking nonsense, he’s really cute.”

“Well um . . . Pepper’s sleeping over at my mom’s tonight. So we can talk.”

“This sounds serious.”

“It is a little. Do you mind?”

I shake my head.

“I never talk about Daphne. But I want to tell you—I need you to understand me.”

“I’m listening.”

“Are you comfortable? It’s a long story.”

“I’m in my bed, and I have snacks. Talk away.”

“I met Daphne in college. She was a sophomore and I was a junior, and from the moment we met, I was absolutely smitten.” I feel a pang of jealousy. I wish Brandon had felt that way about me when we first met. But Daphne was his great love, and I remind myself that I have no right to compare our stories.

“You, smitten? I can’t imagine.”

“You, of all people, should be able to imagine it.”

“But you’re always so serious.”

“I’m not that different from you, Annie. I’ve always been a bit of a hopeless romantic. I was just more open about it when I was younger. Also, back then, I had no problem using money to buy over-the-top gifts. For her twenty-first birthday, I bought twenty-one dozen roses and filled her apartment. I think Daphne was smitten, too—or at least in love with the idea of being in love.”

“Ah. I know all about that. . . .”