TWENTY-EIGHT
Cassie
Present
The words are flying across the page faster than ever before, the sentences and dialogue coming to me quicker than I can even type, and I feel a smile spread across my lips as I read back what I wrote.
Finally.
Finally, I’ve been able to put words on a page and make my next book start to come to life.
It’s been months since I’ve written anything, my book falling by the wayside since my life took a dramatic turn after Lincoln and I stopped talking.
But recently, I’ve been feeling that itch to write again, to push past my insecurities and write whatever my heart desires.
Which is the next book in my fantasy series, one that my agent was dying to read after she finished the full length of the first book. Her email to me had been full of exclamation points and excitement that I couldn’t deny gave me a rush of happiness. People enjoyed my book, and not just my mom, it was people in the publishing world.
I’m so wrapped up in my work that I almost don’t notice my phone buzzing with a notification.
I glance over, seeing the name Muscles on the screen, and I grin. I changed it back after our last encounter, knowing deep in my heart that being with him was everything I wanted and more, and hearing his confession, about how he thought about me when he was deciding his future was a huge step in the right direction.
I don’t exactly know where we stand now, we haven’t let ourselves go too far too fast, but I was hoping that we could get back to that stage of comfortability with each other again.
The other night was a huge step in the direction I knew deep in my heart I wanted to take. He was proving over and over that he cared for me, and the more time I went without him, the more I craved being near him again.
I missed the nights we had together and desperately want more of them. The snuggling, the reading together, the lounging on the couch, him asking about my tattoos while running his hands over my feet.
That’s not to mention the incredible intimacy we shared. Those were some of the most amazing nights of my life.
Muscles: Hey, I sent you my paper to read.
I blink and shake out my left hand, sore from typing, before clicking over to my email and finding the document he sent.
I blink at the title of the paper, “Love Is…” and wonder what in the world Lincoln chose to write about.
Then I settle in to start reading, my finger on my lips as my eyes scan over the text, my heart rate increasing with each lovely line. I frown in certain parts and am pleasantly surprised at how well-spoken the paper is. He really did learn a lot over the last year.
He speaks on how there is no one definition of love and how there are many different ways to express it, whether it be from a mother to a child, a stranger to another, a friend to friend, from one lover to another. He tells about how there are so many definitions of it, that there is no real way to narrow down how to love someone, or something, or somewhere.
The way he writes it, it feels accepting. Like there is no wrong way to love someone, that you just have to find that thing that makes it work, that there are certain nuances to it that make love unique, and that it’s the most powerful thing in the world.
I take a deep breath before his last paragraph and read on.
Love is not, by my definition, just a feeling. It is tangible, it is overwhelming and world-changing. Love may come in many different forms, and passing from one person to the next, it is different for every individual.
All I know is love, for me…is Sunshine.
I blink, and then blink again. Rereading that last paragraph over and over until the words are so ingrained in my brain that I could recite it by heart.
Love, for me, is Sunshine.
He capitalized Sunshine. Love for him, is me.
I wipe the tears that escape me and pick up my phone, ready to call him and tell him that I feel the same, ready to dive right back in with him. He wrote his entire paper centered around…what? Winning me back? Telling me he loves me?
I knew. Deep down, I knew he loved me because he’s all but come out and say it, but I hadn’t been ready to accept it.
He did hurt me, but he’s more than made up for that hurt. He’s accepted that he’s flawed and pushed himself to do better.
I…I can’t breathe properly as I think through what to do.
I set my phone down because I can’t just call him and tell him the truth. Tell him that I love him too. I need to do something bigger. Something more.
An idea sparks to life, and I look at the calendar on my wall.
Then, I make a call, grateful she answers on the second ring. “Mick, I need some help.”
“Anything.”