Nothing. Nothing. Nothing.
“There will be nothing,” I tell myself under my breath for the hundredth time as I try to push away the tightness in my chest. I stab the key into the lock and turn, holding my breath as the door swings open.
No way!
My heart jumps to my throat as I reach in, my fingers brushing a plain white envelope. There’s an urgency in the way I pull it out, my eyes raking over the blocky, black lettering.
He actually wrote me back.
But I don’t let myself gettooexcited over it. I mean, he could totally have written me a hateful letter and ignored the truce. He could be telling me to leave him alone…
Ugh.
I slide my index finger under the tab and peel the flap open, trying not to do any damage to the letter itself. I pull the contents out, a smile stretching across my lips as I catch sight of the back of a picture.
Buddy.I read the word, unsure of exactly what conclusion I’m supposed to draw from that until I manage to flip it over in my hand.
It’s a dog.
A very large, brown dog, who I can assume isBuddy.He’s got his tongue lolling out, and he’s sitting beside a park bench, the leash leading to whoever was taking the picture—Weston, presumably. I admire the cute, not-so-little fluff ball and then return my attention to the letter. It’s written on a piece of notebook paper this time.
“You’re blocking the boxes,” the lady who works behind the counter—and I think hates me—calls out.
“Sorry,” I mutter, taking a few steps back and resting against a plain wall. Right beside me, there’s a picture that matches the strange one that once hung in my apartment. A light laugh slips from my lips as I think about what started this whole thing.
But it fades as soon as I unfold the paper.
Well, this is short.
A frown pulls at my mouth as I realize it doesn’t even make it halfway down the page. He’s barely written me anything at all, but I try to shrug that off as I start to read.
Brittany,
Happy First Day of Summer! I hope you’re staying cool. I heard that it’s supposed to be a hot one. It always seems weird to me that summer starts atthe end of June. It feels like the start of summer is May, but maybe that’s because school always gets out for summer vacation in May? Hmm. What are your thoughts?
Best,
Weston
P.S. I started volunteering at an animal shelter, and I accidentally made too good of friends with a dog named Rambo. I took him home. Oh, and changed his name. Meet Buddy. Haha.
My teeth press together tightly as I fold the notebook paper back into the thirds that it had been folded in to make it fit in the envelope. I take one last look at Buddy, who has the sweetest brown eyes I’ve ever seen, and then put that picture back in the envelope as well.
I should be relieved. This is what I asked for.
Polite. Easy. Friendly.
Weston didn’t mention the party, or the kiss, or the truce. He hasn’t said anything that could make my pulse stutter or my thoughts spiral. He’s stayed right on the surface.
So why does it feel like something just closed instead of opened?
I swallow hard, running my fingers through my blonde hair. They tangle in the leftover hairspray that was sprayed there early this morning. I wince at the feeling, and then head for the elevator.
As I smash theUpbutton, my phone vibrates in the pocket of my blazer. I fish it out, not surprised to see Harlee sending me another meme of some sort that she found on the internet. Normally, I’d open it and probably laugh, but today?
Nope. I use it as an excuse to call her.
“Well, hey,” Harlee drawls as she answers. “It’s been a minute since we talked. Literally. A minute.” She bursts into a giggle.
