Page 186 of The Hookup Situation
She doesn’t finish, but I see it in her eyes.
The next ones are how I view us. Two hands threaded together, every line deliberate so the shadows make them look alive. A couple silhouetted beneath a shower of falling leaves, the shapes of their bodies leaning close.
Her breath catches as she stares at the last few.
The first is a blazing sun, every ray carved with razor precision. Next to it, a starry night sky with bold shapes andimperfect stars. They shine like they’re burning straight out of the pumpkin.
Then the final is a couple in a heart silhouette, kissing. The one that almost undid me to carve because it felt like I was putting my heart on display. It’s us.
Julie takes in the pumpkins.
She lifts her hand to her mouth. Her voice is a whisper, but it knocks the air from me anyway. “You carved our love story.”
I rub the back of my neck. “I wanted you to see what I see when I look at you.”
Her hand falls, and before I can take another breath, she’s on me—fingers twisting into my shirt, tugging me down. Her lips meet mine with a force that’s soft but also desperate.
It’s a kiss that two people exchange when words aren’t enough. It’s as if I’m her air, and she’s been waiting for this moment just as long.
I slide my hands to her waist, pulling her closer until the glow of the pumpkins washes over us. Her mouth parts against mine, and I taste cider and sweetness and Julie. Her hair brushes against my cheek, and she exhales into me. It’s a sound I carved into those pumpkins without even realizing it.
For a moment, there’s no chill in the mountain air, and nothing else exists. It’s just her, us, and the way she kisses me, like every wall we’ve held up has crumbled.
When we break apart, her forehead rests against mine, and her breath is uneven. In the glow of flickering pumpkins, I know I’d carve a thousand more if it meant keeping this look on her face.
After we’ve helpedAutumn complete every item on her checklist, we return to the condo. Julie showers and pulls on anoversized sweater while I make tea. We move around each other comfortably.
“I thought we would write our letters tonight,” she says, setting down a stack of paper and a handful of gel pens that look like they belong in a middle-school pencil pouch.
I sit across from her at the kitchen table. “Great idea.”
She chooses a glittery orange pen, turning it between her fingers. I pick up a plain black one. It feels right. She’s color and stardust and constellations. I’m solid lines. This is why she makes me a better man.
The page in front of me sits blank. For someone who’s spent his whole life knowing exactly what to say in press conferences, contracts, negotiations, this is the first time my hand doesn’t quickly move.
I want to writeI love you.Three simple but obvious words. It’s too much and not enough, so I start smaller. I write about her laugh and how she looks in the morning light. Write about how I appreciate her fearlessness, even if her voice shakes.
I glance up. Julie’s hunched over her page, hair falling around her face, pen hovering, but not moving. She chews the inside of her cheek—the same way she does when she’s lost in thought.
“Stuck?” I ask.
Her eyes flick to mine, then back to the page. “No. Just trying to find the right words for everything I need to say.”
“Same,” I admit.
I want to tell her everything. How the moment she walked into my life again, the noise in my head quieted. How I thought I was too far gone to deserve this and she proved me wrong without even trying. How she makes me want things I’ve spent years convincing myself I couldn’t have. But every thought feels too heavy.
Fuck it, I think.
I let the pen move and don’t stop until the page feels full, and then I turn it over. My chest feels lighter and heavier when I spill my heart. Once I’ve reread it three times, I fold it.
Julie slides an orange envelope across the table to me, and I stuff my letter inside, then write her name on it. She does the same.
We stare at the two festive envelopes, which seem almost innocent. They might as well be sticks of dynamite, waiting for a spark.
I don’t know her answer, but in my heart, I believe there’s a future for us.
There is a chance that, after everything that’s happened with Craig, she might decide that we’re better off as friends. I have not counted that possibility out.
