Chapter 29 Wednesday
Wednesday
(Zero Days Left)
“HAPPY BIRTHDAY!” Jonathan and Matthew begin to sing as soon as I open the front door to the apartment. There’s a pink balloon tied to one of the dining room chairs and a donut with a candle in it on the table.
I rush over to collect them into a group hug. “Aw, thank you, boys.” I take a bite of my donut. “Why are you home so early?” I direct my question to Jonathan.
“Because it’s your birthday and I hate my job.”
“Can my birthday present be you quitting?” I ask.
I’ve tasked Matthew with trying to convince Jonathan of the merits of being a working creative.
After all, they both majored in film and have a ton of similar interests.
Jonathan spent the entirety of last night playing around with Matthew’s camera and asking a million questions about his job, so I think we might be getting somewhere.
“Maybe next year,” he responds. Matthew casts me an apologetic look. “Because I already got you a present for this year. It’s in your room.”
“Jonathan…” I begin making my way up the stairs eagerly. “You didn’t have to get me anything!” I look forward to his birthday presents every year. I don’t know how he’ll top the gift he gave me for my twenty-ninth. It was my label maker.
I open the door to my room and immediately fall to my knees. In the corner, next to my velvet chair, is a beautiful wooden bookshelf.
Its shelves are packed tightly with my collection of books that I thought I had said goodbye to forever.
“How! Someone took them!” I think back to the ache I felt in my chest when I saw that all the bags of books had disappeared from the curb.
“I’m someone,” Jonathan answers from behind me. “I found them outside the day you came to my office. I had just enough time to hide them in the trunk of my car before you got home. I figured you’d want them back.”
I collect myself from the floor and throw myself into his arms. “Thank you,” I whisper through my tears. “The bookshelf…”
“I know a woodworker.” He winks. I’m about to ask if that means he and Finn have started talking again, but Matthew comes up behind us and snaps a picture.
“Sorry.” He shrugs apologetically. “For the memories.”
I have a feeling there are going to be a lot more pictures to hang on the fridge now that Matthew’s around.
“By the way,” Jonathan starts. “We’re going to meet Meg and Alex at Jeffery’s in half an hour.” This catches me by surprise.
“What?” I ask. “I thought they were coming over here for Chinese food later.” A night in where I could cuddle up next to Matthew on the couch had sounded glorious to me, an opportunity for everyone to get to know him better.
“Change of plans.” He shrugs again. “It’s your birthday, we should get out of the apartment!”
“But I love our apartment,” I reply, pouting. “Matthew, tell Jonathan how much you love our apartment.”
“I love your apartment,” Matthew says before turning his attention to me. “But I agree that we should go somewhere to celebrate.”
I feign offense. “Wow.”
“It’ll be fun!” they insist.
“If you say so.” As long as I get to spend the night with them, Meg, and Alex, I guess it doesn’t matter too much where I spend it.
Jonathan leaves to take a shower, and I throw myself on Matthew the second we’re alone. “I missed you,” I tell him. I’ve had a hard time focusing at work these past few days. And I haven’t been able to shut up about Matthew to anyone who’ll listen. Finn and Cheryl have gotten the worst of it.
“I missed you, too.” Matthew pulls me closer and I take a deep breath of him. He smells like my soap.
“Well,” I sigh into him, “I guess I’ll take my present now.”
He shakes his head back and forth. “Nope. Not after the bookshelf. I’m not following that.”
“Oh, come on.”
He sighs, walking over to his bag and rifling through its contents until he finds what he’s looking for.
“Here.” He hands it to me reluctantly.
I notice that the envelope is different from the one I picked up a few days ago. The Phoebe scrawled across it is in red ink this time, not black. “This one’s different.”
“I remade it,” he admits. “I worked on it while you were gone this week. It’s better now. I mean, it’s still not a bookshelf, but…you’ll see.”
“You made it?” My fingers tremble with excitement as I tear into the envelope. I rake my eyes over the piece of paper inside. My jaw drops when I realize what it is.
“You made me a crossword.”
He scratches his neck. “Yeah.”
I grin from ear to ear while scanning all the clues.
7-Across: Total number of hours that make up Phoebe’s Broadway Hits playlist
11-Across: Airplane items that Phoebe collects
2-Down: Gear that Phoebe left her car in when she got out of the car to greet her invited guest at the airport
14-Down: How many inches you have to be to ride the roller coaster at the Santa Monica Pier
23-Down: Number of times Matthew wanted to kiss Phoebe and chickened out before she had to put him out of his misery
“What’s the answer to that last one?” I ask.
He looks over my shoulder and squints down at the crossword. “Somewhere in the hundreds.”
I am so completely obsessed with this and him that I’m having trouble finding the words. I hug the paper to my chest. “This is bookshelf level.”
“You don’t have to say that.”
“I’m serious. I’m going to frame it and put it right there.” I point to the empty spot on my nightstand. “I love it so much, Matthew.”
His cheeks turn a light shade of pink as he smiles. “I’m glad.”
I was planning to wait until tonight to have the following conversation, but with his crossword in my hands and the speech I rehearsed earlier in the car, it feels like the opportune time.
“Also”—I clear my throat—“no pressure, but I just want you to know…” My heart begins to pound. “I won’t be doing any crosswords with anyone else. Not that I ever really was to begin with, but…yeah.”
He raises an eyebrow. “Even Jonathan?”
“I think he’s just been pretending to like them this whole time.” I smirk. The metaphor is surprisingly fitting.
He smiles. “I have no interest in doing the crossword with anyone besides you.”
“Okay.” I nod feverishly. “Cool.”
“Cool,” he agrees.
He reaches out and grabs my hips, pulling me into him and leaning down to kiss my neck. I suck in a sharp breath. He swipes his thumb back and forth across my hipbone, right under the waistband of my jeans.
I run to my open bedroom door, slam it shut, and then run back to Matthew.
“Oh, come on,” I can hear Jonathan whine from the other side of the door. “We have to leave soon!”
“Give us ten minutes!”
“Ugh,” I hear Jonathan groan.
“Fifteen,” Matthew whispers into my ear.
“Give us fifteen minutes!”