Page 94 of 6 Clues Your Nemesis Loves You

A rectangle of white catches my eye, another note on my dining table up ahead. I strut for it, knowing what it’ll say, smiling as I open it.

[REDACTED]

Straight ahead is my small farm-style kitchen. I’m jogging now, scouring my house for my wildfire woman. I don’t find Maggie, but there’s another note affixed to my back door. I tear it off, expecting another [REDACTED]. What I get has me laughing harder.

If you smell as bad as I think you do,

shower before you look for the next note.

I don’t waste a millisecond. I dash down the hall and up my stairs, turning on the shower and stripping so fast the water’s still cold when I get in. I don’t care. I shiver and scrub myself raw and shampoo my hair, skipping the conditioner because who has time to condition when Maggie Edelstein is playing games with their heart. I rush out so fast I almost bite it, recovering quickly while vaguely toweling myself off.

Half a minute later, I’m wearing sweats and my Ironic T-shirt. I tear a path down my stairs, grab a jacket, then jog out my back door.

I scan my yard, pulse racing, lungs pumping. It takes an impatient moment to find the next note—a paper tacked to the large oak delineating my property line. I rush toward it, expecting another one-word winner. I get something more.

Lennon. I don’t know where to start, so I’ll start at the end.

I love you.

I close my eyes and press my hand to my pounding heart. I wasn’t sure I’d ever get past Maggie’s tough exterior to the soft center of her, ever experience the joy of hearing those words. Her lips may not be forming the sounds, but I see her in the letters that wobble slightly. Her vulnerability. Words that have the power to heal and hurt. Love is cruel like that. Lifting you up if requited, lashing you if not.

I lean into the tree for support as I read the rest.

Everything else leads here, to this feeling that’s so big and bright I can barely breathe at times. I owe you more than a simple note. I owe you an explanation and an apology. All the “redacteds” so you understand how sorry I am. I made you feel unworthy and unloved, and I’m ashamed of myself for that. You, Lennon Bower, are everything. I’m at your fairy tree. Please come find me. I want to explain in person.

PS: I seriously hope you showered. Please go shower. Like, don’t come if you haven’t showered, but I really hope you come and don’t you dare shave that beard.

I press my nose to the note, hoping to catch her strawberry-milkshake scent. I don’t, but I grin and break into a jog, dodging rocks and strewn branches, cool air rushing my face. The few clouds above play hide-and-seek with the sun. I jog down my cut path, past the dilapidated barn and its sunken roof, wild grasses charting my course as I round the corner and come to a stuttered stop.

Red coat.

Red gloves.

Red hair the color of fire.

Red lips breaking into a smile.

And a blue tent I wasn’t expecting, which looks like the same tent Maggie used for our picnic lunch.

My lungs crowd my chest, and I sprint, on a collision course with my nemesis. I rush toward her as she rushes toward me, her little hop-steps making her look adorable. The second we meet, I crush her to me, lift her up, and spin her around. I put my mouth on hers and kiss her hard, my hands in that scarlet hair, my tongue seeking hers. She whimpers and softens. I think I taste salt, a tear sliding between us, and I thank my sleepless nights as a moody teen for sending me on a midnight walk and stumbling on to Maggie.

“I love you,” I whisper to the gentle curve of her ear. “I’m sorry I left so suddenly. It wasn’t because of you. Not really. It was because of me.”

Sighing, she rubs her cheek against my beard. “I know. I love you so much. I’m so sorry I hurt you.”

Right. She hurt me. The uncomfortable confrontation I promised myself I’d have, honoring myself and showing Maggie I’ll be a more honest partner moving forward.

I create space between us and cross my arms, attempting a serious expression, but I’m grinning. “Above everything else, I am very sorry I took off without talking to you, but I’m also upset with you.”

She bites her lip—God, I love when she bites that plump lip—and does an equally crap job of looking somber. “I know. You should be.”

“I hated how you treated me in high school,” I go on, and yes, I’m half grinning, too fucking happy right now to bring the full heat, because this is who I am. A man who speaks softer, taking longer to get out his true feelings. “You made me feel like a second-class citizen back then. I know I didn’t have my shit together, flunked classes, and was on a first-name basis with our principal, but the way you ignored me in public sucked.”

She nods quickly. “I know. I was awful.”

“You were, and I get it now. I know you thought I was your gateway drug, the always-in-trouble kid who would unleash your wildest side, but it hurt then, and your distance hurts now.”

I’m no longer smiling. I pass my hand over my mouth, trying to find the right words, fighting the nervous energy confrontation conjures.