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“When, and if, he invites me,” I said. “I’ll say yes.”
He smiled a little.
“I’ll see you then, Autumn.”
“Bye, Weston.”
He pressed his lips together and jammed his hands in his pockets. Then he turned and strode away.
Inside my place, I dumped my sweater and purse on the floor and went to my desk and the stack of Connor’s letters.
The proverbial moth to the flame, I thought, feeling lost. Like I’d lost myself in a man and this strange relationship with Connor. I should have been drawn straight to my neglected work, but I wanted the letters instead.
“Hello to you too,” Ruby said from the couch where she was watching an old Steve Martin rom-com. “How was work?”
“Hey,” I said, rifling through envelopes. “Fine.”
I scanned the latest letter, the one that made my heart ache with its quiet intensity.
Quiet intensity is exactly how I’d describe Weston Turner.
I blinked at the sudden thought. “Ruby?”
“Yeah?”
I bit my lip, and set the letter down. “Nothing. Never mind. I’m going to lie down a bit.”
“Feel okay?”
“Just tired.” I went into my room and shut the door, then pulled out my phone.
Are you there? I texted.
I’m here, baby.
Tears came again, as if something deep inside me had sprung a leak.
I need to hear your voice.
No answer for a moment, then my phone lit up with Connor’s incoming call.
“Hi,” I said, sniffing.
“Are you crying?”
“It’s all I ever do lately.”
A sigh gusted over the line. “I’m so sorry.”
“You’re sorry. Weston is sorry. What are you both so sorry for?”
“You talked to him?” His voice curled higher over the words.
“He came to visit me at work. Why?”
A beat. “I don’t know what he’s sorry about. That we’re both knuckleheads who joined the Army?”
I sniffed a laugh. “Don’t do that. I’m mad at you.”
