Page 203 of Haunt Me

“Tell me more,” I nearly yell.

“Well, you’ll write about how we used to scream at each other,” she says, “in our heads, but in the end, we laughed until our throats hurt. In the rain.”

“Did we now?”

“We did.”

We aren’t laughing right now. We just stand in the middle of the street, rain bouncing off our clothes, and we look at each other, grinning like idiots. It’s impossible to talk any more, but we don’t have to—we’re thinking in sync. We’re thinking in lyrics.

We keep staring at each other like idiots.

…

When we get back inside the car, I ask her to date me. It’s not easy. My mouth is dry and I have no idea what I’m saying, but I do it.

“Eden, will you… Will you consider…?”

Focus, Isaiah.You can do better than Mr. Darcy. Well, not better, but more articulate. Think Rochester and Heathcliff instead.

“You have haunted me this long. I think I’ll die unless you date me.”

Nailed it. Not.

Her eyes go huge, and I fight the urge to swear out loud.

“I am making a mess of this,” I tell her sheepishly.

“You are the poet.” She crosses her hands over her chest. Oh, she is enjoying this, isn’t she?

“No, I’m a singer.” I shake my head. “Youare the poet. But you’re right. I can do better than this.” I move step closer to her, and take her gloved hand in mine. “What I need to say to you right now is that you pierce my soul, you haunt me, you bewilder me. The carelessness which has helped me overcome pretty much everything in my life so far, cannot help me get over you.”

“You started withPersuasionand veered over toOur Mutual Friend,” she observes. “Neat.”

“Is it?” I ask, hopefully.

“Not really. Butchered the whole thing.”

Oh.

“Well, then, the truth: I like you. A lot. Would you go out with me.” Wait, I forgot to add the question mark in my voice. Too late now.

Her face breaks into a smile, and it’s a real one this time.

“You… You are asking me out?” she says.

“Yes, I am. With all I’ve got.” I lift a hand, palm up. “Don’t answer me just yet, please. I can wait. I have waited for years. I can wait.”

I blast the heat on the way home. We don’t say a word until we’re inside again. We change into dry clothes and I make her a hot cup of tea. She curls her fingers around the steaming mug, shuddering in front of the fire. Her hair escapes her sweater’s hood in damp, curling wisps. She turns to me and says:

“Yes.”

I start shaking, and not from the cold.

“Yes?” I repeat.

“Yes.”

“You’ll date me? You’ll… you will let me date you?”

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