Total pages in book: 133
Estimated words: 128069 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 128069 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 640(@200wpm)___ 512(@250wpm)___ 427(@300wpm)
“It was there?” she asks it with familiar emotion etched in her features. She’s embarrassed, like she was the night I met her, especially as she repeats, “It was there?”
Well, shit. I scratch my jaw. But I don’t understand why she’s this upset. Why anyone would be this upset. The list isn’t super personal. It’s not sexual. It’s an inspiration list. A bucket list. “It’s not bad, Josie. The list is actually kind of…cool.”
She swallows and looks away. Slivers of moonlight stream through the window, dancing across her ivory skin as she seems to think. “It’s just…it’s personal,” she says softly.
Lesson I just learned—just because a list isn’t sexual doesn’t mean it’s not private. “You’re right. I shouldn’t have looked.”
She rolls her lips together, lets out a big breath, then meets my gaze, straightening her shoulders. “It’s okay. I shouldn’t have left it there,” she says, then she shakes her head, like she’s letting go of her emotions. “And it’s fine. It’s okay you saw it. Some of my friends know about it, like Maeve and Fable. They know bits and pieces, but I haven’t shown it to them. My mom knows I’ve started it now, but that’s all. None of them know everything that’s on it. No one does.”
She doesn’t have to say except you for me to understand what she means. “I won’t tell anyone,” I say.
“I know,” she says, but she sounds kind of sad, and I feel fucking worse.
“I promise. You can trust me. You know that, right?”
“I do. You caught me off-guard, and I don’t always do well with surprises. That’s all.”
That’s quite an honest admission. “I’ll be more careful,” I say, genuinely contrite now over the whole thing. And yet, I’m still a little obsessed with it. “For what it’s worth, I think it’s pretty cool. This list. I think you’re brave.”
She scoffs, then comes around to the couch at last, bends for the paper, and folds it back up along well-worn crease lines, holding it close. I feel a little chastened, perhaps rightfully so. I push to my feet. “Sorry again. I’ll leave you alone.”
A hand comes out, grabs my biceps. “It’s taken me two years to start it,” she admits quietly.
A beginning. A truce.
I sit back down. “Yeah?”
She sits too, taking her hair down and sliding the scrunchie onto her wrist. It’s like she’s unlocked. “My aunt gave it to me before she died. She’d been sick for a year. A really hard year.” She takes a beat, to collect her thoughts I suspect. “But she wanted me to have fond memories of her. Of us. She wanted to leave me with something. So she wrote me this list so I’d have…” She stops again, her voice breaking. “This piece of her when she was gone.”
My heart lurches toward her. “I’m sorry for your loss.”
“Thank you,” she says, then meets my gaze, her blue eyes pools of emotions. “That’s why I was so happy when you had the scarf. It’s hers, and she gave it to me.”
“I’m glad I found it,” I say, and not only for the reason I’d originally wanted it. But because it means something to her. Something important. “And I apologize again for looking at your list.”
She shakes her head. “It’s okay. I would have done the same. I didn’t want you to think I wrote it myself, and it always takes me a minute to say she’s gone. You know?”
No one I’m that close to has died, so I don’t truly know. “I understand,” I say since that feels true enough.
Fiddling with the scrunchie, she says, “It’s taken me a while to start it because…” She stops, eyes welling. “I’m not that good at getting out of my comfort zone. I’m…a creature of habit.” She meets my face, shrugs a little hopelessly. “I’m not the daring girl. I’m not the bold one. I’m the girl who escapes into books.”
My heart clenches for her. For the way she sees herself. For how she believes she’s not adventurous. “I don’t buy that. You’re the girl who walked half-naked through the city to get back into her apartment rather than waiting till her friend came home,” I remind her.
She gives a small shake of her head. “But it’s taken me two years because…I research everything. I’ve researched all these items on the list. I’ve never had a one-night stand. I’d only been with one guy. Before you,” she quickly adds, and this intel should not delight me as much as it does. Yet it’s so fucking delightful. “I mean, I even looked up how to have a safe one-night stand.”
Yep, called it with her being adorably old-fashioned. “And everything about you makes perfect sense now.”
That earns me a small laugh. “I did! I read articles on what to talk about, how to discuss STDs, and consent. Where to have one.”