Layla
Dear Lisa,
I was serving customers when Ben walked in, holding a bunch of daisies.
The coffee machine was frothing milk for a latte, and I was boxing up cupcakes for a couple at the counter.
There was a big game tonight, and the entire campus was packed with tailgaters, so I hadn’t expected to see him at all.
The cupcakes were frosted in the team colors, green and cream.
Once the couple left, Ben leaned over the counter and kissed me.
“What are you doing here?” I asked.
“Did you make those?” He pointed at the cupcakes. I nodded, and he grinned. “I want some.”
I laughed and reached for a new box. “You didn’t answer my question.”
“I’ve got some time before the game.” He paused, his brown eyes locking on mine. “And… I thought I might try one last time to convince you to go.” He held out the daisies. “I wasn’t sure what your favorite is.”
I don’t have a favorite. I’d never really thought about it before. I looked down at the daisies, then up at Ben.
“They’re perfect.”
He smiled. “So, will you go?”
I felt bad. It’s not that I don’t support Ben with football.
It’s everything that comes with it, the ties to my past, the way it makes me feel like I’m betraying the first boy I ever loved.
Football players back home weren’t like Ben.
They weren’t kind or gentle the way he is.
I packed that life away when I came here, and that part, the football part, was the easiest to let go. Because that part had hurt me the most.
I looked at Ben, standing full of optimism. I knew what this meant to him. So I pushed away the guilt and hoped the boy who once taught me how easy it is to fall in love would understand, Ben isn’t like them.
“Okay.”
“Really?” He grinned.
I nodded, and when he smiled, the guilt eased a little.
He reached into the duffle bag slung over his shoulder and pulled out a mossy green and cream jersey with his number on it.
I shook my head at him. “You knew you’d break me?”
“Hoped.” He winked.
Sometimes, when Ben looks at me, it’s like I’m the only thing in the world that’s ever mattered to him.
I kissed him again before he had to leave.
Later, I ran my fingers over the number on the back of the jersey, twelve.
I think it might be my new favorite number.