Page 34 of A Fighting Chance

Yes.

One step at a time, Lyla.

I search the bed and find nothing, remembering I was undressed elsewhere. I search the floor but there’s nothing there either. A pile on the bean bag chair catches my eye. There they are. My clothes, neatly folded, all together. And of course, a note folded neatly on top.

I stare at the pile for a moment, unsure whether I want to read the note or not. I decide, either way, I definitely want to be dressed right now.

I set the note aside and get my clothes on in a hurry, glad for the uncomplicated items I had chosen the night before. Gentry even folded the unused blanket I’d brought over from my room and sat it next to my clothes.

God.

I don’t even know what to think at this point. I grab my blanket and the note and slip as quietly as I can out of his door and across the hall back to my room. I sit on the edge of my bed, still not ready to read the note, so I place it down. Maybe I’ll never read it. Maybe I should fly back to Boston within the next few hours and wait a very long time to return because I don’t want to face anyone after this.

But of course, I’m going to read the note.

And I’m not actually going to fly back to Boston in the next few hours. Though I can daydream.

I pat around on the bed beside me until I feel the paper between my fingers. I hold it there for a second, rubbing my fingers absentmindedly over it. There’s nothing special about the paper and yet, here I am, nervous as hell about what it says.

Is it filled with rejection?

A gentle let-down?

Does he want more?

Or god forbid, is it full of emotion?

The kind he says I deserve. For whatever reason, none of these possibilities settle well with me. I pull the note up and unfold it.

You smell like honeysuckle

and I want to pluck the center of you,

lay your delicate strands flat against my tongue,

worship your sweet nectar.

P.S. Will you go on a date with me?

Well that’s not good. Nope. In fact, that’s the opposite of good. That’s bad. Very bad. Things are tingling, thoughts are swirling.

Nectar!

Date?!

How does he think that’s a good idea?

If it goes well, it’s bad. If it goes wrong, it’s bad. So, no. We definitely shouldn’t go on a date. Definitely not. I’ll have to speak to him about this.

I grab my stuff for a shower and head to the bathroom, mentally reviewing the list of reasons we can’t go on a date so when I see him later, I’ll be armed and ready. I drop my clothes to the floor and step into the shower, letting the hot water take my breath as I relax into it.

Ah yes, this is much needed.

Then I hear the door open and shut.

“Someone is in here!” I yell over the sound of the water, but no one answers. I open the curtain and peer out, meeting Gentry’s gaze.

“This is where we met, you know,” he says, a smile playing on his face.