Chapter 32 Dates and Drawings
For two months we moved slowly, slow enough to ache, but Arlo never wavered.
He flirted and teased, let the spark glow, then stepped back with purpose, choosing my trust over impatience.
He courted me in quieter ways: thoughtful dates, flowers for no reason, movie nights tailored to me, small gifts at girls’ nights.
He listened to my stories, my characters, their worlds because they mattered.
He kept showing up to art classes despite the fatigue, and every few days he sent a new sketch, always with a note, always signed Arlo12.
After two months, he called and asked me to come over. ''I have a surprise,'' he said, his voice soft, edged with nerves.
When I arrived, his place was dimly lit, warm and hushed. He took my hand and led me down the hall. ''Remember when I told you this was just a spare room?'' he asked.
Then he opened the door.
It was magic.
The walls were alive with my world—my characters brought to life in sketches and paint, every line drawn with care.
Symbols from my stories were woven into the space, quiet details only someone who had truly read them would recognize.
At the center of the far wall, high and glowing, was a large sketch of my eyes.
On the opposite wall, my published stories were carefully displayed. Beside them, older drawings I’d given him years ago. Flowers. Soft lights. A room that felt like breath.
I turned to him, overwhelmed. "Arlo... what is this?"
He swallowed, then smiled. "This is your space. One day, I hope you'll come live with me. Start over with me. But until you're ready, I want you to know you have a place here. Always."
He reached into his pocket and placed a key in my palm.
"You can come whenever you want," he said gently. "To work. To draw. To rest. To just... be. This room is yours. The entire place is yours if you want. So when you're ready to live here again, I will be honored."
I couldn't speak at first. My throat closed around everything I wanted to say, around the hope I'd trained myself not to trust. Tears blurred my vision before I could stop them, and I pressed a hand to my chest like it might keep my heart from spilling out.
"Arlo..." My voice cracked. I laughed softly through the tears, shaking my head. I remembered what my therapist kept telling me about relationships and creating new habits and how saying what I think and feel is always a start.
I stepped closer and pressed my forehead against his chest, letting the steady rhythm of his breathing ground me. "I’m scared," I whispered. "I’m really terrified of trusting again. I don’t know… I feel happier than I ever have, appreciated and cherished but I’m so afraid."
His arms wrapped around me gently, as if I were something fragile and precious.
"No problem, Berrie," he said softly. "Of course you’re scared." He hesitated, then smiled faintly. "Can I tell you a secret?" I nodded. "I’m scared too. Scared that one day you’ll decide this is too much work and leave for good. But even with that risk… you’re worth taking it."
He pulled back just enough to look into my eyes. "So I’m not pressuring you, not rushing you. Take all the time you need. Ask me anything you need to feel safe again. I’ll do my best to quiet those doubts and fears. I’m not in a hurry."
I pulled back just enough to look at him, eyes shining. "I'm not ready to move in yet," I said honestly, "but I want the key and I want the future you're building toward."
Then, quieter, with a small, certain smile, he said: "Whatever you need Berrie."
"Should we christen this place?" I tease, my voice husky with anticipation.
He laughs, his eyes darkening with desire. "God, Berry, nothing I want more... but I can't. I said I'd wait."
Then he looked at me, his gaze intense, and swept me up into his strong arms. "But I have an idea. What about since this is your place, you get to enjoy it first?"
I laughed, breathless. "What do you have in mind?"
"Let me taste you, love." He laid me gently on the bed and lowered himself between my thighs. I was already shaking with need, my body aching for him. "Arlo..."
"Just say the word, Berry babe."
I could feel his warm hands sliding up my legs, parting them slowly, his thumbs tracing teasing circles on my inner thighs. All I could manage was a desperate, "Huh... yeah."
He started with a soft kiss to my core, his breath hot against my slick folds, making me gasp and arch into him.
His tongue flicked out, deliberate and slow, circling my clit with feather-light strokes that sent electric shivers racing through me.
I moaned, my fingers tangling in his hair as he devoured me—lapping deeper now, sucking gently, then harder, his lips and tongue working in perfect rhythm.
My hips bucked against his mouth, chasing the building heat, every swirl and thrust pushing me closer to the edge, my body trembling under the exquisite torment of his hunger.
I didn't know if it had been minutes or hours or something that existed outside time altogether. When it was over, my body felt boneless, like gravity had finally decided to collect its debt. I couldn't feel my legs. I was pretty sure they'd filed a formal complaint and quit.
All I really registered was Arlo—careful hands, warm breath, the way he tucked me in close like I was something precious instead of completely wrecked.
He kissed along my neck, slow and soft, like an apology and a promise rolled into one.
"Arlo, you—" I started, then lost the thought entirely.
"Mm," he hummed, smiling against my skin. "Strong opening. Very persuasive."
I let out a breathy laugh. "I was going to say something important."
"Was it 'wow'?" he asked sweetly. "Because I'm getting a strong 'wow' vibe."
"I can't feel my legs," I said instead.
He laughed, low and satisfied, pulling me closer. "That's not a complaint."
"It absolutely is."
"Give it five minutes," he said, pressing a kiss just under my ear. "You'll be bragging."
I groaned, burying my face against his chest. "You are impossible." I swatted at him weakly. He caught my wrist with ease, grinning.
"Careful," he teased. "You're in no condition to start fights."
"Don't flatter yourself," I muttered.
He laughed again, warm and unbothered, holding me like he had all the time in the world and nowhere else he'd rather be.
"I would love nothing more than to stay," he said softly, brushing his thumb along my arm, "but you know Mrs. Ellery is waiting for us. So, go take a shower, get ready. I'll cook us something, and then we'll go, okay?"
I nodded, already feeling giddy, almost lightheaded with how hopeful the domesticity of the moment made me feel—us, just moving together so naturally, like this had always been the plan.
*******
We got ready and soon arrived at a beautiful house. Mrs. Ellery opened the door with a warm smile that immediately put me at ease. Arlo leaned in and kissed her cheek before turning to me.
"So," she said brightly, eyes twinkling, "this is the famous Berrie. It's so nice to meet you, sweetie."
"Thank you, Mrs. Ellery," I said, smiling.
"Oh no," she corrected gently. "Helen, and you are now officially my daughter-in-law. I already adopted Arlo months ago."
He laughed, shaking his head. "She's not wrong."
Arlo stepped away to make us tea, Helen looked at me with quiet affection.
"He told me everything," she said gently. "First, I am really glad you are alive and safe, but may I give you some advice? Just from an old woman."
"Of course," I said.
"People live and die without ever knowing what the two of you have," she continued softly.
"That longing. That yearning. The support, the trust, the safety.
The butterflies in your stomach." Her voice wavered just slightly.
"I would give everything I have left just to spend one more evening with the love of my life. "
She took my hand. ''But I am not you. If you truly believe your life is better without him, then walk away. Keep it casual, or keep it as just friends. But if there’s even the smallest chance that he brings light into your life, makes it fuller and happier, then take that chance with both hands and never let it go. ''
When Arlo came back, the evening eased into laughter again, the tension melting away. We talked until it was time to leave, until we were finally in the car.
"Where to?" he asked quietly.
I looked at him. "To your place, Arlo."
He swallowed, nodded, and kept driving. The whole way there, I held his hand, feeling his breath hitch beneath my fingers as he kissed them.
We entered the apartment feeling happy but also giddy, nervous, on the edge of something fragile and true.
"Berrie," he said softly, "I don't know what Helen told you, but you don't need to do anything."
"I know," I said. "I don't have to do anything. I just... want it."
I stepped closer and whispered, "Make love to me, Arlo, I am ready."
He closed his eyes, breath unsteady. "Your wish," he murmured, "is my command, Berrie babe."
With reverent hands, he guided me back onto the bed, his lips claiming mine in a deep, lingering kiss that tasted of my own desire.
"You taste like heaven," he whispered against my mouth, trailing soft kisses down my neck.
He nipped at the sensitive spot below my ear, drawing a moan from me.
"Like that, love?" he teased, his voice rough with want.
"Yes... don't stop," I gasped as his tongue traced lazy circles on my collarbone, then wandered to my shoulders, kissing down the curve of my arm to my wrist. He sucked gently there, eyes locked on mine. "Arlo... God."
"You're so beautiful," he breathed, moving lower to tease my breasts—kissing the soft undersides, flicking his tongue over each hardened nipple before sucking slow and deep. "Tell me how it feels, Berrie." I arched into him, whimpering, "So good... more."
His lips brushed my hip bone, the inside of my thigh, even the arch of my foot, every touch worshipful.
Finally, he rose over me, shedding his clothes with urgent grace, his hard length pressing hot against me. "Ready for me?" he asked, voice husky. "Yes," I breathed. He entered me slowly, inch by torturous inch, our eyes locked.
“Fuck, you feel perfect,” he groaned. “Berr, it’s been over a year. I’m not going to last.” He set a slow, sensual rhythm. His kisses scattered across my jaw, my forehead, and my throat.
“Come with me, babe,” he urged as we climbed together, my nails digging into his back. Pleasure crested all at once, breaking over us in a shared, shuddering release. We collapsed together afterward, tangled, breathless, and completely sated.
After a few minutes, we were both breathing heavily. He pulled me into a tight hug, squeezing until I started laughing.
"God," he murmured against my hair, "I missed you so much, Berrie babe."
"Good," I said, smiling. "Me too. I'm thirsty though, can you get me some water?"
"Of course."
He got up and switched on the light, and for a moment I just stared, mesmerized. Not only by his body, but by something new I hadn't seen before.
The tattoo.
"Arlo?" I said softly.
"Yeah?"
"Is that a new tattoo?"
He looked a little flustered, rubbing the back of his neck. "Oh, umm yeah."
"When did you get it?"
"After you left." He simply said.
Understanding clicked into place. "You covered the tattoo you got for her? The one she told me about?"
He looked sheepish as he stepped closer. "Yeah."
I smiled and reached out, my fingers tracing the ink on the back of his shoulder—a tree heavy with berries, the number 12 woven into its roots.
"It's a berry tree," I said lightly. "So... I guess that's me?"
He laughed. "No, that's the other February chick I know, cause you know it is such a common name."
I laughed and added, "Then why twelve?"
He went quiet for a moment. Then he leaned in and kissed me slowly and deliberately.
"Twelve," he said, brushing his forehead against mine, "You have twelve beauty spots on your body."
My mouth fell open. "What?"
“Yeah,” he admitted, a soft grin breaking through. “Sometimes, after you fell asleep, completely spent, I’d just lie there for a while, watching you.”
His voice dropped, honest and a little awed. “I’d look at you like I couldn’t understand how someone like you chose me. I’d count every one of them, kiss all twelve, one by one, like a quiet ritual.”
He laughed under his breath, almost shy. “Then I’d pull you into my arms and just stay there, because holding you felt like holding heaven itself.”
He shrugged lightly, eyes warm. “I know. Obsessed. What can I say?”
I laughed and hopped onto him, pushing him back onto the bed in the process. He laughed too, hands already finding me again.
"I still haven't brought you water," he said.
"Well," I murmured, winking at him, "now I'm thirsty for something else.
Epilogue 1: The Final Letter
Berrie,
I never thought I’d write you a letter after all letters once hurt you, and I carry that guilt with me every single day.
That’s why I stayed silent for so long. I didn’t trust my words not to reopen wounds it took everything in you to survive.
So I spoke in other ways instead: through sketches, through colors mixed with your smile in mind, through the quiet and patient way I tried to be present without intruding.
Those expressions felt safer and less likely to hurt you.
I was afraid my words might become a trigger.
But lately, I’ve come to understand something I can no longer ignore. I’m all in, Berrie babe. Heart, body, soul, everything I have. But if that’s true, then why am I still holding parts of myself back?
You deserve all of me.
My hands when you need comfort.
My heart, open and unguarded.
My soul, no longer braced for loss.
And yes. My words, too.
I have reread your letter more times than I can admit. At first, I read it to punish myself. Now I read it because it is the truest mirror I've ever been forced to look into.
It killed me that I made feel like a placeholder. You were never meant to fill a space. You were the space. The throne was always yours. I just learned how to see it after you were gone.
You made love feel like home, safe and warm, but after a lifetime of being homeless, I didn’t know how to recognize it.
I was too broken and too used to sleeping with one eye open.
But my heart knew. It always knew, even when my mind couldn’t catch up.
It scared me. I’d only ever known love that demanded survival.
When you loved me gently, my fear had nowhere to hide and nowhere to work.
So you thought my hesitation meant I didn’t love you.
It never did, Berrie. It was never the absence of love. It was the depth of it, so deep I didn’t know how to stand inside it without shaking. It was new; it was unfamiliar.
The truth is, I loved you in every moment.
I loved you quietly, clumsily, sometimes imperfectly, but completely.
I loved you even when I didn’t yet know how to remain inside the safety you offered me, when being held that gently felt unfamiliar and I didn’t trust myself not to flinch.
I loved you when I wavered and when I stumbled, when old instincts rose up and I braced myself instead of leaning in, when I was still unlearning fear and teaching my heart how to stay.
I loved you through all of it while I was still becoming, still unfinished, still trying to understand who I was and how to love without armor.
You were there as I learned what real love actually means.
Even when I failed at that, even when I didn’t love you the right way yet, my love for you never stopped growing. I loved you then and I never stopped.
When you wrote that you hoped the love of my life would one day come back, walk through my door so I could hold her like I held you that last night, it hit me too late, like a truth I had buried too deep to face.
Because she had already come through that door…
and then slipped away. She stood in my kitchen, laughing over coffee.
She lay tangled in my bed, warm and real.
She loved me through my silences, through every cracked and quiet part of me and still, she chose me.
I already met the love of my life, but I hurt her and I lost her.
You once told me you would have done anything just to be the heroine in one of my letters, as if being written into my words was the closest you could get to my heart.
That confession has stayed with me, heavier than you probably knew, because it revealed how little of myself I truly gave you back then.
But the truth is, you never needed my words to be a heroine, or to be the center of my love.
You are far greater than anything I could ever write.
With or without me, with or without my letters, you carry your own gravity, your own courage, and your own unfolding story.
This is my promise: I vow to make you the heroine of my present and my future and my words.
You said you wished I'd loved you even half as much as you loved me.
Damn, Berrie, that hit me like a punch. It's been echoing in my chest for two whole years, twisting me up inside.
Here's the gut-wrenching truth: I did love you.
I do love you, deeper and fiercer than I knew how to show back then.
More than words can fix and more than time can measure.
I hate that you ever thought you'd settle for me loving you just half as much as you loved me. Truth is, you deserve it all poured out. You've always been worth someone fighting tooth and nail for you, showing up with everything, and making your heart feel safe, seen, and full.
If you'll let me try again, that will be my mission. I'll love you like you deserve: slow and steady through the rough days and wild and open on the bright ones. With real actions that back up this ache I've carried, proving it over and over.
I’m not writing this to reopen old wounds or to change how things ended. I’m writing because you once told me letters hurt you, and I owe you one that doesn’t.
If letters once tore us apart, let this one heal.
I love you Berrie.
I love you, in the quiet, in the chaos, and in every space in between.
I love you with a heart that's been cracked open, stitched with lessons from the hurt, rebuilt stronger and forever etched with your name inside.
Yours Always,
Arlo
Now turn around, and let us begin forever.
Epilogue 2: Forever Now
By the time I reached the end of the letter, I was sobbing so hard I could barely see the words. My chest ached, my hands were shaking, my heart completely undone.
“Turn around,” he said softly.
I did and there he was. On one knee. Right beside the bike.
The world seemed to stop breathing.