“I like you.”
She pointed to herself then held up two fingers. Me too.
“Date me?” I asked.
She stepped backward, almost shocked by my words. She shook her head.
I stepped toward her. “Date me?” I asked again.
She stepped backward again, shaking her head.
“Stop saying no, please? It’s kind of a punch to my confidence.”
She shrugged her shoulders and moved to her desk where she picked up a notebook and started writing.
How?
“How? How what? How do we date?”
Yes.
“Well, like anyone dates, I guess.”
How do you date other people? How did you date your ex-girlfriends?
“I don’t know, hung out with them a lot. Some liked to go shopping, to the movies, to…” My words trailed off. She frowned. The way I had dated in the past wasn’t the way I could date Maggie. “Oh. I get it, but I’m not trying to date them. I’m trying to date you. However that works, I want to do it. I want to be around you. I want to kiss you. I want to hold you. I want to see you smile. Plus”—I held up her journal—“dating is on your list.”
She shook her head.
“Maggie, I taped this book together piece by piece for over five hours. I think I know what’s in your journal.” I flipped through the pages and held it out toward her when I found it. “Number fifty-six: date Brooks Tyler Griffin, from The Book of Brooks.”
A sly smile found her. I didn’t write that.
I shrugged. “Listen, you don’t have to be embarrassed. I’m flattered. Even though I didn’t create the list, I’m here to make you follow it. Heck, if I’d known you were so madly infatuated with me, I would’ve started dating you years ago.”
She cocked an eyebrow and slammed her hands on her hips, and I knew exactly what she was thinking.
“Okay, to be fair, when we were eight and you planned our wedding, I was at the age where I hated girls. You can’t hold that against me.”
She quietly chuckled and rolled her eyes. I loved that. I loved when she laughed, even though it was so quiet. It was the closest thing I had to her voice.
“See that? We have this thing where I know what you’re thinking without you even talking. You’re my best friend, Maggie. If dating you means spending every night in this house with you, then I’d be the luckiest guy in the world.” I combed her hair behind her ear. “So I’m going to ask you one more time: will you be my girlfriend?”
She shook her head, laughing, but then started nodding and shrugged. I could hear the words she didn’t speak so clearly. I mean, whatever, Brooks. I guess I’ll date you.
Message fully received.
We moved over to her bed, fell on it backward, and I pulled out my iPod for our first official couple song. “Fever Dreaming” by No Age. The song was loud and fast-paced, everything a dating song shouldn’t have been. I was going to switch it, but Maggie started tapping her fingers against the bed. Then her foot started tapping against the floor, and my fingers and feet followed her direction as the drums kicked in. Seconds later, we were standing, jumping up and down, rocking out to the music. My heart was racing as we stood so close to one another and jammed out to the song. When it was over, our breaths were heavy. Maggie reached for her marker and wrote on her board.
Again?
I played the song again, and again. We danced, and danced until our heart rates were high and our breaths were short.
Our timing was so great that night.
Our timing was finally right.
Every day that passed with Maggie felt right.