Page 45 of The Love Interest
She wrinkles her nose. “No thank you. I’m going to design shoes and handbags.”
“Yeah, that sounds like more fun. I really like the idea of the prince and princess writing secret letters though.”
She blinks slowly, and I can tell she’s getting tired. “Keep talking.”
“After the prince was mean to the princess when they saw each other at a ball, he wrote her a secret magic letter in invisible ink and then hid the letter in a hole in a tree and covered the hole with a rock.”
“What’d the letter say?”
“It said, ‘Dear Princess, sorry if I was a jerk yesterday. You were pretty, and it made me mad that I couldn’t tell you that or hold your hand or ask you to dance. Because of the rules about us not doing that.’”
She fakes a loud snore and then sighs. “Boring letter.”
“Well, he can’t put everything he wants to say to her in the first letter. He needs to make sure she’s the one who reads the letter first.”
“I guess.” She yawns. For real. Big time. And closes her eyes. This is happening.
I get up on my knees and kiss the top of her head. “Good night, buddy.”
“Night.”
“Hey. You know where your mom keeps the stamps?”
Suddenly her eyes pop open. “Yes! I’ll show you.”
“No, ma’am, you have to stay in bed. You were about to fall asleep—just tell me.”
She growls. “Fine. Top drawer in the desk in the kitchen. Under the phone. With the good gum.”
“Got it. Thanks.”
I want to ask her if she thinks the princess will forgive the prince if he writes her really nice letters, but her breathing is steady. She’s already asleep. I’d give anything to be able to fall asleep that easily.
Maybe after I’ve mailed the letter on my way home tonight, I’ll be able to sleep again.
21
Dear Fiona,
I hope this letter finds you well—and by well, I mean significantly less infuriated than you were yesterday. I’m very sorry about the way I’ve been treating you lately. It’s regrettable. It’s unforgivable, I suppose, but I am asking for your forgiveness. I won’t pretend to understand women, and I certainly won’t claim to understandyou, but I do know that women like it when men apologize to them. So, I will say it again: I’m sorry.
I have been struggling with this situation we’ve found ourselves in. I have wanted to continue our conversation from the night we met. I’ve wanted to continue doing the things we’d started doing that night we met. But there are so many things I can’t say or do now that I’m your professor. As an anonymous letter writer, I can give you some idea of what I have planned for us once the year is over. If you’re open to it. As an author, I can share excerpts from my work in progress with you. Not for you to critique but to show you how much you meant to me—still mean to me.
When you’re done reading this page, destroy it—shred it or better yet, burn it. And then write me back. Don’t sign the letter. Don’t put a return address on the envelope. Mail it from a random mailbox.
Yours in problem-solving,
Me
P.S. Let’s limit name-calling in future letters to “F” and “E.” By name-calling, I mean the way we address each other with given names. If you’d care to give me some other nickname, so be it.
P.P.S. I still think you’re wasting your talent on that historical romance novel.
P.P.P.S. I really wanted to push you up against the door and kiss your beautiful, angry face. I will. One day.
* * *
Dear E,
