Chapter 28
INDIA
There’s something to be said for losing yourself in a book.
Or maybe I shouldn’t say it that way. I’m not losing myself when I read. I’m traveling outside of myself, exploring. When I reach The End , I have returned.
The journey I’ve been taking over the last couple days is to snowy Massachusetts, to the March family, and the Laurences—to the Little Women characters I only vaguely remembered.
I know them now, only halfway through this book, and I love them.
That’s the magic of reading. My heart aches for people I’ve never met—people who don’t really exist. But through books, we as a society create a collective consciousness. It’s crazy and amazing and incredible enough that I can believe in so many other things, too.
Like love, and the future, and the possibility of days to come.
“I think I’m a Jo,” Juliet says thoughtfully from where she’s sprawled next to me on Aurora’s bed. She takes up a lot of room for someone so spatially aware; I’m hugging the edge of the bed, barely claiming my corner of the pillow.
Over at her desk, Aurora snorts, not looking away from her computer. She’s got her hair in a ponytail, her sweats and t-shirt well loved. “In no way are you a Jo,” she says. “You’re an Amy or a Beth.”
Jules frowns. “Is she the one who dies?”
“Beth does,” I say. “But Amy and Beth are both great. There’s nothing wrong with either of them.”
“Well, sure,” Juliet grumbles, sinking down further on the bed so that her chin is pressed against her chest. “Until she dies.”
I nudge Jules. “You could be a Jo, if you wanted. There’s no rule saying you can’t. But also—Amy doesn’t die. Amy lives happily and forever. You could be an Amy.”
“Does she get a cute guy?”
“Just read the book, Jules,” Aurora says. She pauses. “Or I bet there are some good audiobook adaptations.”
“Of course there are,” I say. “Some great ones, I bet. We should find one and listen to it.” I nudge her. “It’s a sister book. Let’s do it. Or we could watch the movies!”
Juliet isn’t much of a reader. She’s never been strong academically; she’s not dumb, but she struggles to sit down and concentrate, and she’s always been self-conscious about it.
“We could watch the movie,” she says in a small, hopeful voice.
“Let’s do it,” Aurora says with a nod. Her hands still on her keyboard, and then she sighs, clicking out of whatever she’s doing. She spins in her chair to face us. “I’m kicking you guys out now. I’m tired.”
“You look tired,” I say, eyeing her. “Have you been getting enough sleep?”
Before she can answer, though, my phone buzzes. I frown, digging my phone out from where I’ve been lying on top of it, somewhere beneath my back. With an oomph I pull it free and then hold it up.
I have a new text.
I stare at that text. Blink. And then I stare at it some more.
Felix
Come to your window. I’m here.
Aurora stands up and crosses the room, peering over my shoulder, and I can hear her little frown in her voice when she says, “Who’s here? Felix?”
“What—at our house?” Juliet says. She hops off the bed.
I hurry to the window, followed closely by Jules and Aurora. Throwing the curtain aside, I squint out into the night, trying to let my eyes adjust.
“There!” Juliet says, finally pointing at the shadowed figure of a man on the sidewalk in front of our house.
With every step he takes closer to the street lamp, he becomes more undeniably Felix. The blond hair; the tall, easy stride; the lean, muscular frame.
The only thing I don’t recognize is the big silver box in his arms.
“Is that…?” I say slowly.
“No,” Aurora says, confident and sure. “No way.”
But Juliet gasps. “It is! ”
“He—he wouldn’t.” My voice is weak and unconvinced, because of course he would. This is Felix Caine we’re talking about. He absolutely would.
The three of us stare at him, our faces pressed unflatteringly against the cool window panes, as Felix slowly raises the silver box in his hands and rests it on one shoulder. Then he reaches up and presses a button.
“Open the window,” Jules says quickly, and we all lean back, cracking the window to let in the warm evening air—and the unmistakeable sound of ABBA’s “Take a Chance on Me.”
It’s loud. So loud, in fact, that I wince.
“He’s going to annoy the neighbors!” Juliet says, but her eyes are wide and full of delight.
I look to Aurora, who’s wearing a grudging smile.
“Guys!” I say, my voice incredulous. “We are not happy about this! This is—” I feel my cheeks heating. “This is totally embarrassing!”
“It’s so cute, though!” Juliet says, opening the window a little further and smiling. “And this is one of your favorites, Indy! How did he know? ”
I fold my arms across my chest. Part of that is because I’m miffed, but the other part is because my heart is trying to leap out of my chest, and I’m not sure I can contain it.
This can only mean one thing. Right?
I bend down so I can yell out the window properly. “What are you doing?” I call.
Felix grins up at me and shakes his head, pointing to his ear with his free hand. Then he beckons for me to come down.
I narrow my eyes at him—something he shouldn’t be able to see, but he laughs as though he knows exactly what I’m doing. Then he reaches up and presses another button on the boombox. The song stops, and I breathe a sigh of relief.
Until, that is, he produces a microphone from out of nowhere. He conjures it into being, messes with it for a second, and then speaks into it.
“Testing,” he says, a word that flies straight to us through the speakers. “Testing.”
My jaw drops, and I am very sure my face is the color of a cherry tomato. Aurora snorts from next to me; Juliet squeals. But the loudest thing I can hear right now is my pulse, thudding in my ears.
“All right,” Felix goes on, his voice taking on the quality of a radio host or an announcer. The sound echoes faintly down our quiet little street, and I glance up and down the road nervously; it’s nine at night. Surely there are kids sleeping around here, right?
But Felix goes on, and somehow I know that he’s not going to stop. He’s not going to stop unless I go down to him.
“I visited your brother several painful days ago. Then I texted Poppy and asked for your favorite ABBA song. I would like to blame her if she told me the wrong one,” he says. “And now—it is with great pleasure that I introduce to you my newest article in the Four-Leaf Gazette, which I will proceed to read in its entirety. I hope you’re okay with attention, Sunshine, because I wax very poetic in here?—”
I stumble backward and then dart out of the room, my legs carrying me as fast as possible, my hands trembling, my stupid heart hoping and hoping and hoping .
It seems he realizes that I’m on my way to him, because by the time I fling myself out the front door and into the warm night, he’s just starting with a title and a byline.
“‘How to Win Over Your Dream Girl,’” Felix says, reading from a paper in his hands. The words boom even louder from down here, and I can’t believe none of the neighbors have complained yet. “‘After You’ve Already Wasted Too Much Time.’ By Felix Caine. That’s me,” he adds unnecessarily, looking up at me, his eyes sparkling.
“I know that’s you,” I say, storming down the lawn to where he’s planted himself on the sidewalk. There’s a sinking sensation in the pit of my stomach, because I recognize that title—or its similarity to the original, anyway. He’s clearly read my article. When did he do that? Why didn’t he tell me?
“‘So you met the woman of your dreams,’” Felix reads as I hurry closer. “‘And then you messed everything up. What do you do when you only realized too late what a great person was standing in front of you?’”
I want to take that boombox and that microphone and I want to bludgeon Felix with them.
“‘This author decided to do a bit of research,’” he goes on loudly, darting out of my way when I reach him. “‘In hopes of winning back his beautiful’”—I swipe for him and miss—“‘patient’”—I reach for the boombox this time, and he spins out of the way—“‘ highly forgiving dream girl?—’”
But he breaks off when I finally manage to smack the power button, plunging my little street back into sleepy silence.
We stare at each other beneath the harsh light of the street lamp, both of us out of breath, that stupid boombox still on his shoulder.
“You found my article,” I finally say.
He nods after a brief pause. “I found it.”
“And then blatantly ripped it off.”
A grin jumps to his lips. “I didn’t rip it off, Sunshine. I just put my own spin on it?—”
“And what about the Lucky in Love article?” I say. I hold out my hand, and Felix passes me the newspaper.
“It’s there too,” he says. “I just did another one along with it.” The laughter fades from his face, replaced by something more vulnerable. Then he jerks his chin at the paper in my hands. “Read it.”
He looks so unsure. I move further under the streetlamp and hold the newspaper out so I’m not casting shadow over it, and then I read.
How to Win Over Your Dream Girl
(After You’ve Already Wasted Too Much Time)
by Felix Caine
So you met the woman of your dreams…and then you messed everything up. What do you do when you only realized too late what a great person was standing in front of you?
This author decided to do a bit of research in hopes of winning back his beautiful, patient, HIGHLY FORGIVING dream girl.
Try these four easy steps to mend your ways and win back your lady!
Step 1: Be honest about what went wrong.
Was it your fault? Own it. Did she confess her feelings to you, only for you to freeze up and panic and say you don’t feel the same way? Don’t be defensive. Be open about your mistakes. Address any issues that need to be worked through. Show her you’ve learned your lesson—and make sure you do better in the future.
Step 2: Apologize to her.
We here at the Four-Leaf Gazette cannot overstate the power of a genuine apology. The catch? Don’t you dare apologize unless you truly, deeply mean it. If you find yourself wondering whether you really are sorry, then let this girl go. She can do better than you.
Step 3: Right any wrongs you’ve caused.
The second you’re done reading this article, pick up Pride and Prejudice by Jane Austen. Take extensive notes on the way Darcy undoes all the damage he’s unwittingly caused. If you’ve hurt your lady love, what can you do to ease her pain?
Step 4: Respect her decision.
If you go through all these steps and your dream woman still wants nothing to do with you, you have our deepest condolences. The best thing for you to do now is back away. Remember that she’s not just the object of your affection; she’s a person trying to live her life, and that definition infinitely outweighs whatever she might be to you. So step back, wish her well, and move on.
Best of luck from your friends at the Gazette, and remember: the best way to win back your love is to not lose her in the first place!
I stare at the little article for several seconds after I’m done reading, my thoughts swirling as I try to catch up. Then I look at Felix.
“Did you read Pride and Prejudice? ” I say.
He rubs the back of his neck with his free hand and barks out a little laugh. “Kind of?” he says. He grasps the boombox with both hands and lifts it, lowering it gently to the ground and flexing his shoulder a few times. “I read several chapters and then skimmed.” He shoots me an apologetic look. “I’m not sure the classics are for me.”
“And my article?”
The look of apology fades from his face as his expression turns into something more sure—a lift of his brow, the quirk of his lips. “That one I did read all the way through. Multiple times, in fact. And I can’t help but notice, Sunshine?—”
“Here we go,” I mutter.
“That your article appears to have been written about me.” He clasps his hands behind his back and covers the distance between us in two casual steps.
“You’re imagining things,” I say flatly, looking up at him.
The twitching corner of his lips tugs into a true grin as his eyes sparkle down at me. “Am I, though?” he says.
“Yes.”
His gaze burns into mine, full of laughter but impossibly magnetic, and I think my heart has somehow risen into my throat.
“Hey,” Felix murmurs, his smile fading.
“Mmm?” It’s all I can manage.
“I like you.” The word are hoarse as they fall from his lips, his eyes uncertain now. They dart over my features as he steps closer. “I like you, India Marigold.”
I sway toward him without meaning to, and he catches me by the waist, tugging me to him. From the direction of the house I hear a faint, high-pitched sound—Juliet squealing with excitement from the upstairs bedroom, if I had to guess—but I ignore it.
“I thought you said I’m not your type,” I breathe as my hands settle on his chest.
“I was wrong.” His eyes stray to my lips; then he blinks forcefully and meets my gaze again. “I was really, really wrong. And I’m sorry.”
“I also seem to recall you saying you would never fall in love.” My fingers curl into the soft fabric of his t-shirt, beneath which I can feel the rapid beating of his heart.
“I was wrong about that too.” His gaze falls to my lips once more, his arms tightening around me, his fingers curling into my waist like he can’t hold me tight enough.
I swallow, lick my lips, and his eyes darken. Somewhere in my veins, a lightning storm is raging.
“I think we have about twenty seconds until I cave,” he says hoarsely, ducking his head. His words puff against my skin, his grip tightening. “So if you don’t want me to kiss you,” he goes on, “speak now.”
I blink at him. “Do you want to kiss me?”
A broken laugh escapes his lips. “Like you wouldn’t believe, and at really random times. When you’re being a brat?—”
“Rude.”
“Or when you’re telling me off because I’m being a brat?—”
“Better.”
“Or when you were standing in my kitchen, looking so normal in my space,” he admits. “I found myself wondering if kissing you would distract you from the stuff you’d been stressed about.”
“It would distract me. Or…I have a few more things we could argue about, actually,” I say as my hands slide up his chest, because nothing makes me smile like bickering with this man. I feel his breath hitch, feel his heart pounding faster as his gaze sparks with something electric.
“We can argue,” he breathes, his arms loosening. I frown at the loss of his touch until I feel his hands trail up my sides, slowly, torturously—I gasp, and he squeezes his eyes shut.
“Noises like that,” he mutters as a muscle jumps in his jaw. “Good grief.” He exhales slowly, his eyes flying open. “Your time is up early, Sunshine.”
And the next thing I know, he’s kissing me.