Page 9 of Dear Bad Boy Next Door
“I’m glad you did it.” He reaches across the table and takes my hand in his.
I can’t help the smile that spreads across my face.
6
BECK
We talk more over dinner, and Lucy tells me how the letter she sent even came to be. She and her friends decided to write them because they all felt they were in romantic ruts and figured getting the words down on paper might jump-start their chances to move on.
“So, you are the only one who sent yours?” I ask.
She looks down at her plate and moves around the last few bites of chicken on her plate.
“Not exactly.”
I set down my fork. “What does that mean?”
“I may have stuffed all the letters in my purse before I left.”
“Did you mail them?”
“Yes, after I stuffed my letter under your door, I ran down and dropped them in the mailbox.”
“Are you crazy?”
“It’s entirely possible.”
“I can’t believe this. I finally find a woman I really like, and I'm pretty sure her best friends are going to murder her, and with justifiable reason too!"
She puts her head in her hands. "I know! I was full of adrenaline about what I did with my letter that I thought just writing the words down wouldn't be enough for them either. By the time I realized my mistake, the mail was already picked up. I tried calling the post office about getting the letters back, but they just laughed and hung up on me.”
“Can you blame them?”
She shakes her head. “No.”
“When do you think the letters will get to where they are going?”
“Early next week.”
“Well,” I pull out my wallet and drop a few twenties down on the table. “I guess we should enjoy the time we have before they figure out it was you.”
We head back to our apartment building. I take the long way back, enjoying the feeling of her warm, soft body pressed against mine. But like all good things, it has to end sometime. We walk up the steps in silence. Her small hand finds mine, and I don't want to let her go.
We stop at her door.
“Thank you for an amazing day,” she says, resting her hand on her rib cage—the plastic bandage covering her tattoo crinkles from her touch.
“Thank you for writing the letter.” I pull it out of the inner pocket in my jacket. She reaches for it, but I pull it back. “This is mine now.”
She smiles. “Fine, but if anyone comes around asking about letters, you know nothing.”
I give her a quick wink. She opens her door and steps inside, closing the door with a soft click behind her. Her absence from my side is immediately felt, and I know that I'm not ready for this day to end. She took a chance by stuffing a letter under my door. I can take a chance and knock on her door to see if what she wrote is still how she feels.
I lift my hand to knock, just as the door swings open again. We are both momentarily surprised before we each start talking at the same time.
“I don’t want to go home,” I say, just as she says, “I don’t want you to leave.”
"Thank God." I cup her face in my hands and pull her in for a kiss.
