Page 20 of Last Letters to Ara
Peering up, my eyes lock with his. “What’s number five?”
Theo lifts his hand, guiding it toward my face so slowly, as if he’s taking care not to spook me, but I couldn’t move if I wanted to. He grabs a loose wave, having escaped my bun, and gently tucks it behind my ear. His fingers linger a little before he drags them away, slightly grazing my neck as if they’ve got a mind of their own.
I forget that he hasn’t answered my question.
“I would have gone to a thousand cafés if it meant having you as my friend.”
With that, Theo walks away, leaving me with my thundering heart as my only company.
I am so screwed.
Present - Ara
I GOT ALMOSTno sleep last night, but not because I was out too late with Theo. We were only together for an hour or so before I went home. Just last night felt...monumental.
When I got home, I was wired. Even giving myself a full mani/pedi, which looking at it this morning confirms that I did a terrible job, didn’t tire me out. So I followed it up with a full skincare routine, complete with a facemask that’s been sitting in my cabinet for so long that I probably should have checked the expiration date, and applied a hair mask for half an hour andstillwasn’t tired.
By the time my head hit the pillow, I was sure I’d never smelled so good or felt so soft. Yet, I still couldn’t bring myself to sleep. Instead, I laid in bed, unable to stop replaying what Theo had said as he left. It was something out of a fucking Nicholas Sparks novel.
I would’ve gone to a thousand cafés if it meant having you as my friend.
And the way his fingers grazed my neck just before he left...I groan.
When I’m not wrapped up in the memory of his touch, I’m busy wondering how Theo keeps showing up in my life. First the airport, then the diner, as if he knew exactly where I would be. Now he’s found me where I work, and wants me to believe these were just coincidences?
A prickle spreads across my back as I stare at Theo’s contact information in my phone, the way I have been doing since I woke up. Regardless of his reasons, I know in the pit of my stomach that I’m safe with him. Ithink.
Surely, he gave me his number because he wanted me to use it?
Fuck it.
Last night was fun.
No, that’s lame.
Officially resigned, as of this morning.
That’s stupid too.
How did you sleep?
What am I? His fucking mother?
I growl and delete it all, throwing my phone back on the table and return to my cereal. What iswrongwith me? Last night didn’t mean anything. We are just casual acquaintances now, as in, I have someone to call if I get a flat tire. That’s it.
Knock, Knock, Knock.
Oh, my God. Dad’s letter. It has to be that.
Shooting up from my chair, I nearly knock over my entire dining table and bowl of cereal with it as I run to the door and throw it open, not caring as it slams against the wall.
A deep gasp leaves the delivery man’s throat as he clutches his chest in shock. “Good heavens, young lady, you scared the bejeezus out of me!”
“I’m so sorry! I’ve been looking forward to this for days.” It’s not lost on me that I could have been spending this man’s last moments with him on my doorstep, had I given him a heart attack.
“Well, okay then,” he says with a chuckle as he reaches into his bag and grabs the letter. “I guess I won’t make you wait any longer.”
The envelope is the same as the last, light gray, and Dad’s handwriting scrawled across the front. My eyes instantly fill with tears. Though he’s never let me down, part of me was afraid the next letter would never come. It’s surreal, the sense of safety these letters bring after only having received two now.
