Page 18 of Love at First Write

From: [email protected]

Subject: Done dodging

Tommy,

I wasn’t intending to dodge the question. Sorry, I didn’t consider that it might be weird for you.

Also, since I was friends with Leah, I assumed you knew how old I am. I’m twenty-three, just like she is. We were in the same grade. I guess I thought … I don’t know, we chatted so easily, I thought maybe you remembered me from home.

I didn’t mean to make it weird.

As always, stay safe,

Kelsie

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Subject: Sorry

Kelsie,

Shit. Sorry.

You didn’t make it weird, I did.

I can’t tell you how much I wish I did remember you from home. I really do.

But I don’t.

Please don’t take that the wrong way.

I’m hoping you’ll keep emailing me. I wasn’t lying or exaggerating when I said getting your emails is the best part of my week. That’s true when shit over here is intense, but it’s also true when things are great.

Your letters are the best part of my week, any week. No matter what is happening.

I’m the one who should apologize, because you just wanted to send cookies as a nice gesture and now, here I am, nursing a crush on you, making it weird.

Is crush even the right word? Jesus, I sound like an asshole saying that. A crush doesn’t sound like the right word at all, but what is the right word?

I feel like I know you. I feel like you’re someone I could have real feelings for. Even if I don’t remember you, I feel like you’re someone special.

If that makes you uncomfortable, ignore this email. We can go back to talking about Ancient Aliens and nothing else. I’ll never say anything about it again.

Yours,

chapter eight

Ethan

Go big or go home, right? Not exactly a SEAL motto, but definitely something we live by, in the way that we pour all of ourselves into the mission. In this case, she is my last and final mission. She’s my end game.

Not that I plan on checking out anytime soon. We have a lot of living and catching up to do.

“I read all the other emails,” she says. Her fingers link with mine and she pulls me over to the couch. It’s one of those L-shaped sectionals in broad stripes of pale blue and white.

“You did? Why didn’t you ever write me back?” I ask.