Total pages in book: 92
Estimated words: 89265 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 89265 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 446(@200wpm)___ 357(@250wpm)___ 298(@300wpm)
“There’s no point, Grams.”
“Even if it’s simply a letter of condolence about his friend. He’s probably feeling pretty down. Imagine if he comes home late tonight, all by himself in that big empty house, but he has a note waiting for him. Something to remind him he’s not alone.”
“He likes being alone.”
“Do you still believe that?”
I wasn’t sure what I believed anymore. Everything in my head was all jumbled up.
“You give it some thought.” She patted my shoulder. “Goodnight, dear.”
“Night.”
She made it as far as the doorway before turning around. “Now don’t take this the wrong way, but if you do decide to write him a letter, it wouldn’t hurt to maybe put on some lipstick and leave a kiss mark on it. Maybe spritz it with a little perfume?”
“Goodnight, Grams,” I said firmly.
“Okay, okay. I’m done. Goodnight.”
I was awake most of the night.
I kept thinking about conversations Ryan and I’d had, remembering things he’d said. The way he trusted me. The way we kissed. Had I missed something? Had I grown so obsessed with my own feelings I’d lost the ability to read him?
Or was Emme right? Had tonight been more about fear than anything else? Was he protecting himself from feeling too deeply? After all, he’d gone to war to escape the grief he felt over losing his mother, and war had taught him to survive by killing his feelings. Had the death of his friend put him back into survival mode?
I understood his need to protect himself. Hadn’t I done the same thing? Hadn’t I made safe choices, dating only men who didn’t excite me or challenge me? And wasn’t all of it to protect myself from being rejected? From feeling like I wasn’t enough?
Ryan was really the first unsafe choice I’d ever made. I wondered if I’d do things differently, if I could do them over again. My gut reaction was yes, because this entire thing was a painful mistake and I hate myself for getting involved with him. Good sex isn’t worth it.
But there was more to it. Ryan had taught me things about myself, both physically and emotionally. He’d opened something up in me. He’d shown me a different side of myself, a side I was no longer afraid of. For that, I was grateful. And I’d do it all again.
Because love was always a chance worth taking.
Without thinking twice, I got out of bed and tiptoed down the stairs. In the living room was a piece of furniture Grams called her “secretary,” where she kept stationery, envelopes, and pens. When my sisters and I were young, we used to love unlocking it, unfolding the desktop, and pretending to write letters.
A wave of nostalgia hit me as I went through the motions now and composed a letter for real.
Dear Ryan,
I want to start by saying how deeply sorry I was to hear about the loss of your friend. And I want to apologize for making tonight about me when it shouldn’t have been. I should not have come at you like that, asking difficult questions and making demands.
But I am new to this. I’ve never fallen for anyone the way I fell for you. The whirlwind of it caught me off guard.
I won’t deny that I’m heartbroken. Your words outside the restaurant, true or not, hurt me.
But I want to thank you for showing me what true passion feels like. For pushing my boundaries. For getting me to take a risk and follow my heart. Because even though it didn’t lead me to happy ever after, it was a chance worth taking.
Love always is.
You might disagree—in fact, a few weeks ago, I might have disagreed. But in the short time we spent together, I’ve learned something.
The bravest thing you can do is trust another person, and let them see the real you.
I showed you the real me. I saw the real you. And I am a stronger person for it.
You are a good man, Ryan. I will always believe that. And I’ll never stop wondering what might have been.
Love,
Stella
P.S. There is a bourbon pecan pie with your name on it in Grams’s fridge.
I put the letter in an envelope, sealed it, and carefully let myself out the front door. Leaving it slightly ajar so I could get back in, I shivered through the chilly, rain-damp darkness across the lawn in my bare feet.
Ryan’s mailbox was at the foot of the driveway, and I quickly stuck the letter in before I lost my nerve, and hurried back into the house.
Upstairs, I dried my feet off and got back into bed. I felt a little better. Stronger. Braver. Tomorrow when I left, I might be sad, but at least I wouldn’t feel like a coward.
Still, I shed a few more tears before going to sleep, longing for his arms around me.