“I didn’t though. Graham wasn’t there. He wasn’t even in town.”
“I know.” I hold up a hand. “The letter says you have to share something you love. Something personal, something that makes you brave. It says you have to spend an hour in close proximity with someone.” I pause. “It doesn’t specify Graham.”
“That feels like cheating.”
“Maybe.” I look down at the letter again, at Beverly’s handwriting. I’ve been reading her handwriting for years, and I know when she’s being precise and when she’s being loose on purpose. “But I don’t think she would see it that way. Maybe she had Graham in mind.” I fold the letter. “But you did something harder than sit next to Graham in a dark room for an hour. You got up in front of a room full of kids with high expectations, even though you thought you would fail, and instead of giving up, you did the thing anyway. You didn’t quit.” I look up at her. “I think that’s exactly what she was asking for.”
Vivien’s jaw works for a moment. “You can’t know that.”
“No,” I agree. “But I knew her. I know that the point was never really Graham. It’s to get you out of your comfort zone. And create some drama around town, which means task successful.”
She laughs, and then her arms fly around me.
I’m so stunned, the letter flickers to the floor as I hug her back.
“Thank you,” she says, pulling back slightly.
She’s too close. Only inches away. She smells like vanilla and lilac, and her mouth is soft and perfect.
Then she kisses me. Just a brush of lips. She pulls back to meet my eyes, searching, questioning.
Then I kiss her back.
She immediately responds, her arms tightening around my neck, her lips parting underneath mine.
“Wait.” I have to pull myself together. I can’t believe we’re doing this. Again. There are reasons this is a terrible idea. What were they again? “I have to give you your letter.”
Her hands run down the front of my sweater. “What if I don’t want the next letter yet?”
“Why?”
She brushes her fingers against the top of my pants, slipping under the fabric. “With the next letter will come a timeframe and probably something else to force me into contact with Graham.”
My brain is only half functioning. I try to track her train of thought. What is she saying? Graham. “Right, because Graham is gone until next month.” Graham. “Are you sure about this?”
“What do you mean?”
I swallow. I don’t want to ask, but I have to. “What about you and Graham?”
Her hands run around my waist, against my skin. “I don’t want to do this with Graham. I don’t want to do this with anyone else. There is nothing between Graham and me.”
Blood roars in my ears. “I don’t want you doing this with anyone either.” And that’s a problem, but all my blood drained from my brain the moment she kissed me, and now I’m struggling to remember the words ethical boundary, let alone summoning the willpower to enforce them.
I force my thoughts into order. “Maybe we can wait a day. Or two. Or three. There was no time limit on when I need to give you the next letter.”
“Good. Because my letters have had time limits. So let’s wait.”
“Okay.”
Then we’re kissing again.
She yanks my sweater up and over my head. Then somehow, we’ve switched positions, and she’s walking me backward until the backs of my knees hit the couch and I sit, looking up at her, a little stunned and a lot turned on.
She tugs her shirt up and off, tossing it somewhere behind her. She’s only wearing leggings and a sports bra. She slips one leg over mine, and then the other, straddling me.
Holy hell.
Chapter Nineteen
