“I…haven’t.”
My gut twists at her confession. Maybe I’m not making any progress with her. “No worries. It’s always there. Unless you burned it. Then you’ll have to let me know so I can write you another one.”
She rolls her eyes. “I didn’t burn it. It’s sitting nicely on my desk. I just haven’t decided if I want to read it or not.”
“Well, just know, while my vocabulary has expanded since high school, my grammar and punctuation usage has not.”
“If you’ve switched and are no longer Team Oxford Comma, I will never forgive you,” Izzy says vehemently.
“Never,” I gasp playfully. “I got us those matching Oxford Comma Preservation Society T-shirts—what was it, junior year?—and I stand by it. Or at least, I know how much it means to you. I even told my PR team when they first signed on that they had to use it in all my press releases.”
“At least you’re using your powers for good, not evil,” Izzy teases.
We sit in companionable silence for a few seconds before she asks, “How long do your security team’s meetings usually take? They can’t possibly have this much to talk about when you’re in Wild Bluffs, do they?”
I tilt my head from side to side, weighing how truthful I should be. “If I had to guess, they’re giving us some space to talk. Nash is probably showing Leo stupid videos he finds online.”
“Ah, well, I walked here, so I should probably get going. It’s going to be dark soon,” Izzy says as she stands.
“I could walk you home,” I say. “If you wouldn’t mind the company too much. I’m still sore from that workout on Wednesday.”
Izzy thinks about it for a second before slowly nodding. “That’d be okay, I suppose. And a lot safer for all of us than whatever other forgiveness item you have on your list.”
The sun is setting as we make our way slowly to Izzy’s house, chatting about her work and how she and Becca got started with Flatroads Consulting. It’s peaceful.
And as I stand on the steps leading up to her porch, offering her wishes for a good night, my mind searches for the word I need to describe this moment—this woman. It’s not just that she’s smart, or funny, or kind. It’s not just that she’s grown into a beautiful woman. It’s that she, even when she’s still mad at me, is breathtaking. In every way.
“Hey, Izzy,” I say as she’s about to walk in the door.
“Yeah?”
“Can you please read the letter?”
Chapter thirteen
Izzy
IgiveJaxonanoncommittal answer to his request, but as soon as I walk in the door, the envelope sitting on the corner of the desk in my room, the same one that’s been staring at me since the day I brought it home, is the only thing I can think about.
I just can’t seem to get my mind around opening it.
It feels like opening his letter, when he never responded to mine all those years ago, is showing my hand too much. Being too vulnerable. Letting him win.
I’m not sure what game we’re playing or why it would be a bad thing if he won—I guess because I would lose, somehow—but it feels too easy.
Like reading it would be a sign of weakness. That I’m not strong enough to hold to my views on things. That I’m willing to be walked on by any man with a pretty face and a good job and just hop up and say it’s okay.
Not that Jaxon walked on me. I’m pretty sure walking away from someone is different than walking over them. And it’s not like he isn’t trying. I know he is.
So maybe…maybe I should read the letter.
I walk into my room and sit on the corner of my bed, engaging in what has to be the most useless staring contest that has ever taken place between a woman and an envelope.
Just do it. Just grab that little white square and open it.
Instead, I continue to stare at it, because clearly that will solve all my problems.
After overthinking every step that led me here—and realizing I don’t want to be the kind of person who ignores something that clearly means so much to someone—I finally grab the letter off my desk and open it. I stare at the folded piece of off-white paper in my hand, some kind of fancy stationery that I've never considered owning before. Jaxon must have found it in his dad's house.
