Page 29 of The Upside of Falling
Colby
Hugging the letter to my chest, so freaking happy, I think about the strength and come-to-Jesus moment he must have had in order to write me back.
He wrote me back.
He took the time to push through that brick wall of his and give me a little piece of him. It’s tiny, but it’s something.
Each time I see him, he gives me another small piece to his puzzle, and with each piece I lock in, I want him more and more. I want to know this sensitive, weathered man.
And it starts with his letter. I will not take this for granted. I will not drop the ball. I will make sure Colby has someone to receive mail from, because if anything, I want to be the person who puts a smile on his face at the end of his long days.
Chapter Twelve
Dear Colby,
I’m sorry it’s taken me so long to get back to you. Hopefully Colorado Springs mail travels fast. To be honest, I wasn’t expecting you to write back. I thought, if anything, you’d text me, so to find your letter waiting for me in my mailbox shot all kinds of fluttering butterflies through my stomach.
I read your letter at least ten times, memorizing your words, your confession, studying your handwriting, seeing your personality in the straight and precise lines. So controlled, so definitive.
And the words you chose:I can’t stop.I don’t know if you realize how much that feeling resonates with me, because it’s the same three words that played on repeat every time you were near.
I can’t stop. I can’t stop. I can’t stop.
I didn’t want to give up or give in to your demands. I wanted to continue this connection. I wanted to see where it went and I’m so glad I did, because receiving your letter put such a bright spot on my crappy day. It made me realize that in an age where I could communicate with you by pressing a few buttons, the sheer magnitude of receiving a letter in the mail from you is unbeatable.
I hope you continue to write me, because knowing that you are actually thinking about me puts some much-needed pep in my step.
Wildly in lust,
Rory
P.S. I hope you don’t mind the red lips and perfume again. It just feels like it’s necessary at this point.
Dear Rory,
The red lips and perfume are necessary. I crave them. Love knowing your lips have been on that paper, that your addicting scent is easily accessible whenever I want to remember sitting next to you when you were wrapped up in a blanket, as the stars danced above us. I’d be greatly disappointed if I got a letter without them.
I think a lot about that night, the night we first met. I think about the moment I first saw you, how it felt like the world stopped spinning. It was only you and me on the back deck, everyone else fading into the distance. I immediately knew you were going to be trouble, that I was in for a world of hurt if your beautiful green eyes connected with mine.
And they did.
I became lost, uncertain, and infatuated.
From a distance, I watched you play pool, studied your laugh, memorized the movements of your body, and when you came over to talk to me? That one little greeting falling from your lips—hi—was all it took. I was gone.
I keep telling myself I shouldn’t write these letters, that I should continue to trash them (five in the trash this time) but my pen refuses to stop. Instead it reveals the truth through my scrolls, a truth only you are privy to.
I like you, Rory, and that terrifies me.
Colby
Dear Colby,
When I first wrote to you, I never thought I’d receive such poetic responses from you, and I apologize for that, for underestimating you.
Your letters . . . they move me in a way I’ve never been moved before. Knowing you take your time to find the right words to say to me, it makes me want to make sure I do the same. Instead of writing something just to write it, I want to have purpose behind my words.
If we’re talking about the first night we met, I have to admit, I noticed you the moment you walked out on the deck. You were unmistakable, unmissable. You commanded the attention of everyone around you but not with your attitude or showboating, because that’s not the man you are. It was your thoughtful gaze, the way you surveyed the area, and the swagger in every step you took.
