Before Anyone Else - Love In All Seasons - Page 54

AG

From: heartofgold

To: avagracewentworth

AG,

Sorry I didn’t write for so long. I didn’t intend to hurt you. You are not a fool. You are funny and tender and too fucking good for me.

I should admit I didn’t know what to say when you asked for my address. I wasn’t ready to go there yet.

And I’m still not.

But I don’t want to lose you. Can we try again, backing up to a place that doesn’t make me run?

Favorite song? Let It Be by The Beatles. Speaking of people, we’ve loved and lost: my mom died when I was young. She sang that song when she washed the dishes, swept the floor, chopped vegetables for dinner. It was her mantra. I wish I could make it my own, but I am nowhere near as easy going as she was. My thoughts get the best of me. It’s near impossible to turn off the noise. That is something I admire in you. You come across as someone who is always present.

Favorite food? Hands down, my homemade mac and cheese. It’s the one thing I can cook and cook well. Comfort food at its finest.

Favorite place? The mountains. No question.

Favorite person? You. The only problem is, I know I may have fucked things up beyond repair.

Have I?

I wish we’d been together when the ball dropped at midnight on NYE. I would have kissed you.

HOG

From: avagracewentworth

To: heartofgold

HOG,

I’m not going to lie. Seeing your reply in my inbox gave me butterflies. I wanted to kiss you on NYE too, but I should be honest, I always go for unavailable men. Men who refuse to commit. To me.

I’m not doing that anymore.

Things are over between us.

I need a man who understands that my heart is fragile. That it has been broken so many times before.

I get the impression that this is a game to you.

But it’s more than a game to me.

It’s my life, and I’m sorry, but you can no longer be in it.

Ava Grace

12

When I receive the final email, I know I’ve fucked things up. Badly.

I started talking to her through email so she could learn to trust me... but now she’s just going to be pissed. She’ll be angry that I played her for a fool. That I slept with her, and left her, and then decided to pretend I was someone else to get to her.

Except I’m not pretending. When I write to her, the person I present is the person I truly am.

I thought if I went cold turkey, let her have her holidays to herself, maybe I would get over her or she would get over me.

But dammit, all it did was cause me to sleep like shit for two weeks straight, and wish I were in a place to commit to her. Forever.

Because that is what Ava Grace deserves.

And now the emails are over.

If I write her again, I’m going to need to tell her the truth. And if I tell her the truth then she’ll never see me as someone she can trust.

New game plan: When I’m in town for the Bachelor party, I will win her over.

And just hope she isn’t still heartbroken over HeartofGold and has space in her heart for me.

The party is everything I hate. Loud shitty music, douchey guys in collared shirts and ties gyrating against half dressed women, shots of crappy liquor—fucking kamikazes and buttery nipples—being passed around. And strippers that look like they need to go home and have a warm glass of milk and bedtime story.

“This is epic,” Taylor shouts over the pop music blaring at the dance club post strip tease. “You guys fucking rock!” Taylor’s tie is wrapped around his forehead, his shirtsleeves are rolled up, a rum and coke in hand as he jumps to the music.

His buddies all give him fist bumps, hovering and grinding against the women on the dance floor.

I grin at my kid brother, thinking that if anyone dared throw me a party like this I’d just straight-up leave. Sure, I hate this vibe—but I love him. But staying doesn’t require me to stay on the dance floor.

I move to the bar, order a whiskey neat, and take a drink, look around the club, shaking my head at the antics that are so far from my day-to-day life.

Scanning the room, I do a double take. A party has just arrived. A woman in all white, a tiny white mini-dress, a veil on her head, a sash across her body reading BRIDE. Sophia is here.

And so is her entire party.

A group of women in tiny dresses, big hair, sloppy drunk, and smiling ear-to-ear lead her to the dance floor. I watch the herd cross the room, all eyes on them, and then I see Taylor realize his bride-to-be is here. A loud drunk laugh that tells me everyone is having fun erupts as the two parties merge into one wild, dancing mob.

Tags: Frankie Love Romance
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