Page 63 of Red Flags Only

Chapter Thirty

Soooooo not in love with her. Clearly.

Lyra

Sweet Lyra, My Lyra,

I do not believe anyone has ever written a love letter like yours. I particularly liked the part where you called me the hottest man on earth. I liked it second best, only behind the part where you said you are mine forever. No, sorry, third. I liked it third best, because there was also that bit about you being helpless. I quite like the thought of you helpless for me.

I figure fair is fair, so even though you haven’t shown up at my house and stripped (though I know how much you like to flounce around sans clothing), I’ll try my hand at my own love letter. Practice makes perfect, after all. Plus, I have a feeling it will be like all things are with you – easy, beautiful, and highly enjoyable. Let’s find out, shall we?

Following your lead, we’ll start with the things I love about you. I experience somesorrows, as I do not believe the earth possesses enough paper to write a comprehensive list, but I will work with what I have.

Your kindness. To me, to my brother, to everyone we went to school with and to passersby on the street. You treat everyone with dignity, whether they deserve it or not. You smile at them, you greet them, you remember them. You ask people about their families and their pets, and you don’t do it shallowly. You care about them to such a degree it baffles me in equal measure to how it awes me.

Your creativity. Some of the letters you’ve sent me… It’s incredible what you’re able to make out of nothing, and you have seemingly endless ideas. You’ve never once repeated a theme, not even when we had no jobs and supplies were limited. It amazes me to such a degree I can’t help but have it etched into my skin, every doodle that took me by surprise each time I thought I knew the measure of your imagination and abilities until, eventually, I learned to stop limiting you with my expectations. Now Brandi scribes me with the parts of your letters that feel so you, I can’t bear to let them go.

Your humor… intentional or not. No one makes me laugh like you do. No one has fun with me like you do. No one, not even Mars, brings my soul levity like you do. You’re silly and dramatic and, sorry love, but a whole lot ridiculous. The joy my heart knows at being around you is immeasurable.

You’re a million other things, all of them better than the last, but I won’t list them all here. I’ll end this portion of the letter with my favorite one, which is that you’re mine. Helplessly, forever mine.

What blessings have I, to deserve such a thing?

Ah, and what came after the compliments on my personality? Do you recall, sweet Lyra?

I bet you’re blushing now. Rosy pink flowing from your cheeks to your neck and down, under your butterfly and into the collar of the dress you’re wearing. I love it when you blush. There’s something about it that makes me want to kiss your cheeks – to feel the warmth of it against my lips.

You wear a blush so gorgeously.

I love how small you are. When we hug, I can wrap you so fully that I know nothing else can get to you. I can hold you protected in my arms for as long as you allow, and when I have to let go, I can stand before you, big enough to block the bad. I have never been so grateful for my build as when I could use it to separate you and the things that hurt you. I promise you, my song, that I will always be there, standing in the way. You’ll never have to take those things on by yourself again.

You mentioned my face in a way thatmakes me think perhaps you do not know what yours looks like. Eyes the color of Easter grass and lips a shade of pink not in nature, because how could even nature mimic such silk perfection? Your skin, so often painted rose, is the softest I’ve ever felt. I could spend hours running my fingers along, searching for a rough spot that doesn’t exist. I think I’d like to, if you’d let me.

You are beauty, grace, kindness, thoughtfulness, peace, joy, and soul-deep contentment all in one. If you are helpless, Lyra, then you must know that I am powerless. To do anything less than love you is outside of me, an unreachable goal, should I even want it. Which, to be clear, I do not.

Forever yours as you are forever mine, your friend until the moon is dust and the stars all fade. I love you so dearly, my song.

Yours,

Jupiter

I read Jove’s letter. Then, I read it again, my eyes snagging on “your friend”.

This dummy doesn’t know he’s in love with me.

I mean, okay, sure,Ididn’t know I was in love with him, either. But at least I figured it out before the end of my love letter. This man ended his love letter proclaiming us the best of friends forever. My goodness, he said he wanted to run his hands over my body for hours – yes, I was indeed blushing as I read it – and then basically said “wow, what abuddy!”

I pick up my phone and dial Elodie.

She answers on the fourth ring. “My favorite cousin!”

“Elodie, he’s clueless!”

She laughs. “Of course he is. He’s a he. Are we talking about Jove?”

I grunt. “We’re doing our fake dating thing, right? And it’s going fine. Then, suddenly, he’s allwrite me a love letter, Lyra,and giving me puppy dog eyes, and doing that flaggingpoutthat, honestly El, if you could see it, you’d give him anything he wanted too.”

I stand from my desk, and pace back and forth between it and my bed.

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