Chapter 10
Writing a love letter to someone you don’t have any romantic feelings for and don’t really know while also pretending the sender is someone other than yourself is harder than I thought it would be. Go figure, right?
I stare down at the empty sheet of paper, the pencil in my hand poised for inspiration to strike. Why is this so hard?
You’re overthinking it. Dalton isn’t a closet Lord Byron. What would a flannel-wearing chainsaw artist write to his secret barista love?
I press the tip of lead to the paper and write.
I like you a latte. Let me espresso my feelings for you.
I move the pencil away and read the sentences again. Then immediately groan. Stacey and Dalton are supposed to fall in love. A few punny pickup lines isn’t likely to set off wedding bells.
I scratch out the sentences and try again.
To the woman I can’t stop thinking about,
Okay, yes, this is already a better start.
I glance up and look around the library.
It’s raining, and there aren’t many people willing to brave the elements to drop off or pick up a book.
Apart from the homeschool mom who always brings her two kids every Tuesday at this time and the man working on his résumé at the bank of computers, the walkways between the rows of shelves are deserted.
My chin dips back toward the paper. What would make my heart skip a beat if I was the one to receive an anonymous love letter?
Please don’t consider me a plagiarist, but I must borrow a confession from a classic and say that you have bewitched me, body and soul. Your sweet smile lights up the room and
“Whatcha doing there, Angel?”
“Eeee!” A startled cry launches from the back of my throat, and on reflex I swipe the paper off the desk and watch it float down to the floor while my heart thuds against my ribs.
Tai grins at me from the other side of the counter.
My palm is pressed against my sternum as I will my pulse to return to normal. “You shouldn’t sneak up on a person like that.”
He leans an elbow on the desk, the epitome of casual relaxation, while I’m over here recovering from a mini heart attack.
“Who said anything about sneaking? You were so engrossed in your writing that you didn’t notice me walk in.” He leans forward a bit more and tries to peek over the counter. “What had you so enthralled anyway?”
Uh-uh. No way will Tai Davis be getting a peek at that paper. I take half a step to the right and cover my handwriting with the sole of my high-top. “I’m not sure what you’re talking about.” I neatly fold my hands in front of me and give him my most serene smile.
Amusement flashes in his dark eyes, reminding me of stars at midnight. “Sure you don’t.”
“Is there something I can help you with, Mr. Davis?”
“I really do love it when you call me that.” His smile simmers, causing heat to climb into my cheeks.
Do not react, Evangeline. It’ll only encourage him.
I toss a thick lock of synthetic hair over my shoulder and rotate toward the computer, resting my fingers on the keys.
When I look back at him, my face is void of any emotion.
At least, that’s what I’m attempting. Hopefully it’s working.
“Can I look up a book for you, perhaps?”
He pushes off the counter. With our similar height, our faces are closer than I’m used to. The lack of distance is disconcerting. Intimate somehow, and I find myself easily staring into his eyes without even meaning to.
I blink, clear my throat, and force myself to look at the computer screen.
“I’m not here for a book today.” His voice is soft and low. Hayley would call such a tone smooth as butter, although she might not use the saying on her cousin.
Even though it’s true.
“I came to ask you if you’d like to join me for dinner sometime.”
My head whips around so fast I might need a chiropractor later. I reach up and finger my wig, thankful that I hadn’t displaced it. “Excuse me?”
“Dinner.” He gives me that smile that engages his entire face, practically radiating carefree, confident charm. “You know, the meal people eat in the evening. Or maybe you call it supper?”
“I know what dinner is.” My surprise makes me snippy before I remember my manners and repeat myself a second time in a more controlled tone of voice.
He shrugs, then casually stuffs his hands in his pockets. “You sounded confused.”
“Not about the definition of dinner.”
If possible, he’s grinning even more now. “Oh? Is there something else about my invitation I need to clear up?”
I can feel my irritation rising with my suspicion. I don’t know if I should try to push the feelings back down or wrap them around me like some sort of defensive armor.
“Yes.” My voice is clipped, so I try to modulate the next words out of my mouth. I cannot let him see that he is affecting me in any way. “Like why you asked me to dinner in the first place.”
He looks me straight in the eye. No provocation. “Angel, I’m asking you out on a date.”
He’s not laughing. At this point, he’s no longer even smiling. Are you serious? Why are you asking me out?
He smiles again now, this time softly. “I’m asking you out because I like you and I want to get to know you better. I want to spend more time with you.”
My eyes widen as my hand darts to hide my mouth. “I said those thoughts out loud?”
“Yes.” Mirth is a dancing flame behind his expression. “But I’m glad you did. Now you know the answer.”
I blink, wishing there were a cosmic pause button I could push right now so I could have just a few moments to sort out this massive tangle of knots that has become my thoughts and feelings.
Seriously. My brain currently resembles a ball of yarn after Kitty Purry has gotten her claws in it.
This is a plot twist that I hadn’t seen coming.
Tai Davis is interested in me? He wants us to go out on a date? I’m inputting the data, but my mind is still shooting out does not compute messages.
I glance up at him through my false eyelashes.
He looks sincere. His hands are in his pockets, and he’s regarding me with a half hopeful, slightly amused expression.
More like he finds the fact that I’m dumbstruck endearing and less like he’s having a laugh at my expense or considers me a toy he’s just playing with to pass the time.
I know I’ve classified him as a modern rake, but is there a chance I might have misjudged him?
I nibble on the inside of my lower lip. There’s a humming below the surface of my skin.
A thrill of possibility sending up flares of endorphins that’s getting increasingly harder to wade through with logical thought.
I admit there’s a part of me that wants to say yes, to throw caution to the wind and jump on the slim chance that maybe the love of a man could be in my future.
That someone could still want me or find me desirable.
But that part of me is the na?ve optimist. The little bit left that hasn’t shriveled and died to let cynicism—or reality—take its place.
Even if Tai is sincere now when he doesn’t know how I truly look, how long will that interest last?
Until he sees me without any makeup and no eyebrows or eyelashes?
Or maybe when he realizes I’m balder than a newborn baby under this wig?
I’m not ready to risk going through that again.
I’m not ready to possibly watch the interest die from another man’s eyes when he looks at me without a wig or makeup.
Brett had promised to protect my heart and he’d shattered it when I needed him most. That wound is still fresh and raw, the pain still aching.
Maybe one day the injury to my heart will be healed enough to risk getting hurt again for a chance at love, but I’m definitely not ready now.
“No,” I say, shutting him—this—down before it can even get started.
He blinks, clearly expecting my answer would be different. “No? May I ask why not?”
Why not? Umm. I didn’t think he’d come back with a follow-up question or for me to lay out my reasons. Can’t no just be no? Again, where’s a pause button when you need one?
I rack my brain, trying to think on my feet.
I need a reason good enough that he won’t ask again.
In my mind, I know that allowing any sort of romantic doors to open right now is a bad idea, but my chest aches with such a yearning to be loved and accepted that I’m afraid I could be persuaded to make a wrong choice in my current state of vulnerability.
Between my head and my heart, my heart is the bigger bully of the two.
In a street fight, it will win every time.
If Tai were persistent in his pursuit, he could possibly wear down my head’s resolve, my heart possibly ending up in more jagged pieces than it already is.
I cross my arms over my chest and tilt my chin, hoping my determination is enough to keep my pathetic need for romantic love in place. “You have trouble written all over you, and I’m not looking for any.”
He opens his mouth to protest, but I hold my hand in the air to stop him, wincing that I’ve used what he told me in the coffee shop about his reputation against him.
“I’m not interested in becoming a cautionary tale or the next tidbit in small-town gossip.
Besides, I don’t date. But even if I did, I would only go out with someone who is sincere and committed, not someone who flirts with every woman he meets and only sees them as a game or a challenge or a means to pass the time. ”
His face tightens. He looks as if he wants to say something, but then he just shakes his head. He opens his mouth, closes it, then finally turns and walks away without a word.
I watch him go, my chest caving in on itself.
I’m still looking out the front glass door when a black Dodge Challenger zips out of the parking lot.
I hate myself a little bit right now, and the feeling of guilt unsettling my stomach isn’t helping either.
I don’t think I’ve ever spoken to anyone the way I just spoke to Tai. I hope I never do again.
I sigh and bend down to pick up the paper with the beginning of a love note on it. A dirty print of the sole of my shoe mars the surface. I’ll have to start over. But not right now. For some reason, I’m not really in the mood to pen a fake love letter anymore.