* * *
But where’s the notebook?
* * *
Bellamy
Dear Bellamy,
* * *
Check the mailroom at your apartment building. The email from the delivery company says the notebook landed there.
* * *
I’m not totally on pins and needles, pacing my office, wondering what you think of every single word in it.
* * *
Easton
Dear Easton,
* * *
Aww. It’s cute when you open your heart. Was that you being all squishy and vulnerable just now?
* * *
Bellamy
Dear Bellamy,
* * *
Yes. How am I doing?
* * *
Easton
Dear Easton,
* * *
I guess we’ll have to see. How did it feel?
* * *
Bellamy
Dear Bellamy,
* * *
Hard, but good. And worth it, like you.
* * *
Easton
Dear Easton,
* * *
I could turn those words around and make a joke à la, hard but good, like you. But I’ll say this instead: This side of you is interesting.
* * *
Bellamy
Dear Bellamy,
* * *
I hope interesting is good.
* * *
Easton
Dear Easton,
* * *
Me too.
* * *
By the way, I’m at work. I have things to do for the podcast tomorrow night, so I won’t be able to check the mailroom in my building till I’m home tonight.
Looks like those pins and needles might last a little longer.
* * *
Bellamy
Dear Bellamy,
* * *
I’m willing to wait.
* * *
Easton
Dear Easton,
* * *
I’m home now, and I’m unwrapping the notebook. It has illustrations of horses on it. Nice touch, cowboy.
* * *
Ooh, there’s another notebook—one with cellos!
* * *
Okay, that’s some serious points on the convincing scale.
* * *
And, wow, your handwriting is bad. You weren’t joking. I’m going to need to use the Da Vinci code section of my brain to decipher this.
* * *
But that’s okay. I like puzzles. I think I’ll like this one.
* * *
Bellamy
Dear Bellamy,
* * *
The night I met you, I was determined to kiss you, but that wasn’t because of a bet. It was because of all the things you said to me at The Lucky Spot, when I was Jay and you were Not-Daisy.
* * *
From the first words that flew out of your mouth, you owned your you-ness. You never backed down from what you wanted. You were defiant, strong and sexy, and quite flirty.
* * *
(Admit it, you were.)
* * *
I was hooked, and at the end of the night, I asked for your number because you were the most intriguing woman I’d ever met.
* * *
No one has kept me on my toes like you do. Apparently, I like being knocked off-kilter.
* * *
Then, we met again at my party, and I saw snippets of your tenacity and bits of your ruthless honesty. The first time we went to the chocolate shop, you showed me more of that deliciously naughty side, plus your intensity, your drive. I wanted more.
* * *
All the things I learned next floored me. Your strength, your bravery, and your ferocity.
That’s when I started to fall for you in earnest.
I fell in new ways when you met my grandmother. Watching the two of you interact felt a little like magic, and a little like everything I’d been missing in my life. Everything I’ve been terrified of for the last few years—closeness, connection, intimacy.
* * *
You gave all of yourself even under the guise of an understanding. And the whole while, I fooled myself into thinking no one would get hurt.
* * *
But I hurt you. Badly. And that’s the opposite of what I want to do. I want to make you feel amazing, because you deserve the neon billboard in Times Square at night.
* * *
You once said I only liked the chase, but that’s not true. I love chasing you, and I love catching you, and I don’t think either will ever stop. I’ll never truly know all of you because there’s more to learn every day. I want to understand the next layer of Bellamy. And the next, and the next.
* * *
Until the other night, I believed the risk of love outweighed the reward.
* * *
But when you walked away, I realized love with you is worth everything.
* * *
So here I am, asking for a third chance.
* * *
Love,
Easton
45
Go Big or Go Home
Nolan tosses a T-shirt into his suitcase. I point in horror at the wad of fabric. “Is that how you pack?”
“Yes. What’s wrong with that?”
“Roll it up,” I say, demonstrating how to fill a suitcase properly. “You roll the shirt, nice and tight.”
“Yes, like an adult would do, not a teenager.” The feminine voice comes from the phone as Emerson FaceTimes us from San Francisco—Lombard Street, by the look of the steep hill she’s walking down.
Nolan rolls his eyes. “I know how to pack.”
“No, you don’t, man,” I say, grabbing the shirt and thrusting it at him. “Now, do what I showed you.”
He sighs, all manner of aggrieved. “I thought we were talking about your lack of relationship skills, not my lack of YouTube travel tutorial skills.” He rolls the shirt in a tight cylinder than presents it. “Are you happy now?”