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“I don’t know,” I mumbled scathingly. “Because he hates me?” That was the only logical explanation, except he’d just told me he didn’t.
Right before he had kissed me.
My stomach churned, and my pulse began to skyrocket.
Beau had kissed me. And I’d kissed him back.
Oh God, I had kissed Beau.
Beau Gamble. Who usually made me so mad I just wanted to strangle him, yet also the boy I had secretly always hoped would be my first kiss.
Now he was. And I had liked it. I wanted to try it again.
“Oh, I don’t think he hates you,” Aspen murmured knowingly as if she could see the very scene I was replaying in my head right now.
I blushed. Then clenched my teeth, irritated over the confusing mix of feelings in me.
No one confused me like Beau. And that pissed me off.
“Well, he sure has a funny way of showing it if he doesn’t hate me,” I muttered.
This time, she laughed outright. “Yes.” She nodded. “I’ll definitely agree with that one.” Then she shook her head and sighed. “But for some reason, Beau’s always had a hard time letting anyone know what he’s truly feeling, especially when the emotion makes him uncomfortable.”
“Uncomfortable?” I blurted, wrinkling my nose. “But I’ve known him my entire life.” How could I make him in any way uncomfortable?
Except, I didn’t exactly feel comfortable thinking about that kiss. I felt oversensitive, wired, anxious, and edgy. But not comfortable.
His mom gave me an evasive shrug. “When he was little and used to clam up on me, refusing to tell me what was wrong with him, you know what I would do?”
I perked up hopefully. “No. What?”
Maybe I could use her method.
“I’d write letters to him. He’s always had an easier time expressing himself through the written word than spoken.” Then she blushed and admitted, “Maybe because his mom’s an English teacher, I’m not sure. But whenever I couldn’t get him to say something out loud, I could always get him to write it down.”
“Hmm.” My brows lowered skeptically. “Really?” I doubted what she was saying, even though I knew she wasn’t lying by any means. It all just seemed too good to be true.
But she smiled and answered, “Always. And every time, it was something that he was too embarrassed to admit aloud, like the fact that he’d had a nightmare or was nervous about starting middle school or was still scared of the dark. Things he didn’t think a tough boy should ever feel.”
My heart melted at that, imagining a little Beau, writing all his fears and concerns out to his mother.
Aspen smiled fondly and sighed. “You know, reading words can be a magical thing. I fell in love with Beau’s dad after reading something he’d written.”
Now that made me pull back a little startled. The mere words fall in love and Beau mixed together did weird, and even more uncomfortable things to my insides.
But I was determined here, so I ignored all that and asked, “Do you think he’d write back if I wrote to him?”
She lifted her brows, opting not to answer, and instead she said, “There’s only one way to find out.”
“Well, I’ll try anything to get him to stop annoying me. Do you have a pen and some paper?”
“Of course. Look who you’re talking to here.”
I sniffed out a smile, and she immediately fetched me what I needed.
As I clutched the pen in my hand and stared at the blank piece of paper before me, I remembered the note Beau had slipped into the gift bag with the replacement blouse he’d given me. The blouse I had shredded.
That simple I’m sorry had actually swayed me more than anything. If I still hadn’t been so upset, it probably would’ve broken my resistance right there. So I decided to go just as simple as he had. I wrote:
