Yours in solidarity and hope,
Between the Lines
I look up to find seven pairs of eyes staring at me with varying expressions of approval and terror.
“What?” I ask defensively.
“That was beautiful,” Jo says.
“That was you jumping too,” Amber adds.
“That was you basically confessing your feelings without realizing it,” Michelle finishes.
I stare at me phone in my hands.
Oh my, she’s right.
I just told Coastal Quill to be brave while being brave myself.
I just encouraged him to risk everything while risking my own heart in the process.
“I need to go,” I announce, standing abruptly.
“Where?” Caroline asks.
“To write this down and mail this. Before I lose my nerve.”
I leave the coffee shop, Sigmund squawking his approval from the boardwalk railing.
Time to be brave.
Even if brave means walking into fire.
Especially then.
TEN
SCOTT
I’m sitting in my car outside the post office for the fourth time today, which is either dedication to my correspondence or a cry for help.
Probably both.
The postal worker—a woman named Deb who’s worked here for thirty years and has definitely noticed my obsessive checking schedule—gives me a look through the window that clearly says:Get a life, sad businessman.
Fair.
I check my watch. 4:47 PM. Letters get sorted by five. If Between the Lines responded to my terrified confession about being a coward, it should be here by now.
Unless she didn’t respond because my admission that I’m falling for someone I can’t have scared her away.
What if she realized I’m a disaster masquerading as a functional adult and decided our correspondence has run its course?
Grayson would tell me I’m spiraling.
Jessica would probably tell me the same while simultaneously giving me a reading list about emotional regulation.
The thought of Jessica makes my chest do something painful and wonderful at the same time.
