West picks up a lock of my hair and lets it slip through his fingers. “I could get used to this.”
“What?”
“Picking you up for a date from my bedroom.”
I search my brain but can’t find a response. When West knows what he wants, he is not a subtle man. And I understand where he’s coming from. We’ve always been all-or-nothing, and neither of us wants to lose more time when we’ve already lost so much.
After a beat too long, he says, “I have something to show you.” He moves into the room and opens the drawer to his nightstand. He ruffles through the stack of papers inside the drawer, and my already-nervous stomach squirms uncomfortably.
“I went through that drawer the night of the fire!” I blurt. He looks over his shoulder, mouth quirked. “I’m sorry. I didn’t read anything. I was just so curious about you and your life. I wanted something tangible or…I don’t know. I also touched everything in your shower and used your razor.” I slap my hand over my mouth as West laughs.
He pulls a letter from the stack and hands it to me. “What’s this?” I ask.
“Read it.”
I unfold the paper, and my heart drops when I read the first line.
Mars,
I’m sorry. I love you. I’m so, so sorry.
It’s the apology he wrote seven years ago and never sent.
West shoves his hands in his pockets and waits. I fold the letter and hand it back to him. “I don’t need to read this.”
“Why not?”
“I’ve already forgiven you.”
He frowns. “I would feel better if you read it.”
“I don’t need you to grovel, West. Not even a past version of you.”
He sighs, looks strangely defeated. “Will you at least take it with you when you go back to New York?”
“I told you, I don’t need this to know that I”—my eyes widen at the words that almost slipped out. As if it wouldn’t be crazy to admit forty-eight hours into this thing—“that I’ve already forgiven you. I’m ready to move on.”
“You think that now, but there’s every chance in the world that when you leave, you’re going to remember that I ruined your life, and you’ll slip away again, despite the fact that I’m trying desperately to hold on to you this time. If you have this letter as a reminder, I might stand a fighting chance.”
“Hey, that’s not going to happen.” I grab his wrist.
He looks down at where I’m holding him, his hand still tucked in his pocket. “Whatisgoing to happen when you leave?”
I tug his hand out of his pocket and slip my fingers through his. “Take me on that date, West.”
He tucks the letter into my suitcase on our way out.
“Being here makesme feel old.” I hook my ankle around West’s under the table at Bison Witches as he wordlessly slides his pickle toward me, just like he did on our first date. West and I are without a doubt the only people over thirty in the entire bar.
“Try teaching high school. I feel like I’ve got one foot in the grave.”
“It is still so weird to me that you’re a teacher.”
“You don’t trust me to educate the young minds of America?”
“Please. I bet you’re the best teacher that school has. It’s just odd that one of the most important aspects of your life was unknown to me until a couple of days ago.”
West nods. “I feel like I know everything and nothing about you at the same time.”
