Finally, he asked, quietly, "We were good together, weren't we?"
Sage met his gaze. "Yes. I have had time to think, and I believe you loved me in your own way. But you kept a little piece of yourself in reserve, and I can't forgive that because I held nothing back. That's why we are going to be friends at some stage, because we have a beautiful son and we want what is best for him. But I want to give you first dibs on the house if you want it."
He sighed, shoulders bowing. "I'm fine with you selling it if that's what you want to do—not that I have any say in it anymore. It's too big for me, anyway."
And with that, there was this wonderful freeing sensation that rushed through Sage, as if the walls around her no longer owned her.
Chapter 35
One week later, when she picked up the mail, Sage noticed the envelope immediately. The address was written in the now familiar, steady masculine script, which made her pulse quicken. Inside was the same crisp, expensive stationery as the last letter.
She sat at the kitchen table, smoothing the page flat.
My dear little moonbeam,
I can feel your reticence all the way across the miles. You don't answer my texts beyond the odd "yes" or "no." I used the big word in my first letter, and now you're wondering what on earth is wrong with me. I must have an ulterior motive, you tell yourself.
Men are commitment-phobes, you're thinking. Why does he want this?
Well, could it be for your money? Then I suggest you do a bit of investigating into how much I'm worth, because, truth be told, it's not a small amount.
Or maybe you're thinking I've got some kink you don't know about. No, not that—well, alright, I do have fantasies of tyingyou up and having my way with you, but that can wait until we know each other better. Because I am game, if you are.
So why, you ask, would a confirmed bachelor like me suddenly act so out of character? And you might say I don't really know you.
Well, here's what I do know:
•Your favourite colour is blue—and it happens to be the colour of my eyes.
•You love spicy food, as do I, though I admit I've a stronger stomach for it.
• I love your body. I'm a man, I admit it, that's what we notice first. If a man tells you otherwise, he is a liar. I won't wax poetic. I love your long brown hair, the colour of chestnuts, and I can't wait to run my fingers through it.
•I love your grey eyes—storm clouds one day, soft silk the next.
•You have the plushest pair of lips, and they give me all kinds of ideas.
• I've been told I don't snore too badly by a reliable source, I promise. If you snore, I don't care because I am a deep sleeper.
•You have a way of laughing with your eyes before the sound comes out. I noticed that the first time I tried your Sour Patch Kids and made a face.
•You tuck your hair behind your ear when you're thinking and sometimes bring it to your mouth, then scowl at yourself for doing it
•You're quick with sarcasm when you want to protect yourself, but underneath you're tender, too tender, and you don't even realise it shows.
And so, the list goes on. If this were a debate, I would have won with my bullet points and all.
I have shocked you wordless and petrified you with my first letter. This one, I hope, explains some of it.
More to follow...
Do you remember us watching Sleepless in Seattle? Sam Baldwin says,
"I knew it the first time I saw her. It was like coming home, only to no home I'd ever known."
That is exactly how I feel about you.
Always yours,
