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“Yeah, I understand that far too well.”
There is no self-pity in his tone, no fishing for sympathy. Just an honest acknowledgment that families are complicated and not everyone got the picture-perfect childhood they deserve.
Preston’s eyes lock with mine, and I feel us connect over the subject. I don’t pry, though.
“I’m sorry, you understand…”
“Don’t be; it makes us tough people, right? Independent. Maybe that’s not such a bad thing.”
As we talk, I feel the building stress from the past few days begin to loosen its grip. Preston doesn’t make me feel fragile or like a project that needs fixing. He isn’t trying to solve my problems or dismiss me. He’s listening, really listening, and that makes me feel substantially better.
“Can I ask you something? Maybe kind of awkward?” I ask, playing with what was left of my ice cream with the spoon.
“Shoot.”
“This morning, at the library… You really didn’t have to follow me outside. You could have just taken your book and left, but you didn’t. Can I ask you why?”
Preston is quiet for a beat as he takes the last bite of his banana split.
“What happened wasn’t okay, and you looked like someone who needed to be told that. Everyone deserves to have someone in their corner, even if it’s just for a moment.”
The simple sincerity of his answer makes my throat tight. Aside from Blaire, I can’t remember the last time someone cared about my well-being without wanting something in return.
“I appreciate you, you know, seeing me, I guess. I really do.”
“That’s easy to do. You’re pretty hard to miss, Wynnie.”
The way he speaks and the smile that comes alongside it… He makes flutters tickle my stomach and my heart race.
Outside, the night has settled in completely, streetlamps casting pools of yellow on the empty sidewalks. Preston walks me to my car, his presence solid and reassuring beside me.
“I’m glad we ran into each other,” he says as I unlock my door.
“Me too,” I smile.
“Would it be presumptuous to ask you for your number?”
I hold my hand out for his phone instead of answering. He unlocks it and places it in my palm, allowing me to enter my number.
“I’ll see you around the library?” He asks.
“I’m financially obligated to be there,” I tease, but I stop myself from getting fully in my car. “Thanks for tonight… and for this morning.”
He grins in the glow of the street lamp. “Any time, Wynnie.”
On the way home, I find myself not thinking about Hudson or the notes or the violation of trust, but about handsome eyes staring into mine and his warm smile.
4
Ghost
My chest boils with frustration.
It’s a slow, burning ache that worsens every time I send my darling flowers, only to find them abandoned and left to die in the very place I left them. Ten bouquets so far, and each one rejected. I pour myself into this, choosing each bud and rearranging them by hand, guided only by a vision she can inspire.
Bouquets are kicked over on her porch; a few are left in the office at the library for the other workers to enjoy; and the three I left in her car were promptly put in the trash can at the end of her driveway.
I’m writing her notes that bleed my soul onto paper, and still, they are crumbled up and tossed into her purse or her junk drawer—they’re nothing to her. Each time, the rejection chips away at the hope I nurture in the crater of my being. That some day soon, she will learn, and she’ll see what I’m offering. But most of all, that she will treasure it.
