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  “I wish I could kiss you,” he told me quietly, letting his eyes show me how much he really wanted that. I nodded, unable to look away. I didn’t know if I’d ever actually kissed anyone at year-end. Sometimes I didn’t even stay awake. It had never been that important to me to symbolically start a year with someone special. Now, though, I understood. I had the urge to get in my car and drive the two hours to his house just to feel his lips press against mine, even if it was technically already the new year.

  The year had officially started, a new blank page of a new blank book. If I could have bottled my feeling or printed it on paper and sold it, I wouldn’t have had to worry about work. You always feel so inspired at the beginning of a new year. I’d have been rolling in dough for the rest of my life. This feeling was addictive.

  I hated that it was an ending, but it was an ending disguised as a beginning.

  CHAPTER 24

  LIKE EVERY SCHOOL break in the history of forever, it went by too fast. Monday classes came with the promise of academic pain. Dr. Rodgers floated into the classroom in a rush of papers and high expectations. I didn’t know what he put in his coffee in the morning that made him so excited, but I needed some. I wondered what the street value was. Kidding—it was probably something free like sweat and early-morning endorphins. No, thank you.

  “We’re going to repeat the self-portrait assignment,” he announced to the class. It was a two-semester class, and everyone who had taken Advanced Journalism I with him in the fall was stuck with him for Advanced Journalism II in the spring. Apparently he still had no qualms about making our lives miserable. Graduation wasn’t that far away. I was hoping to skate by on luck until then—banking on it, really.

  “Same rules as before, but I want you to expand on yourselves. Take notice of how you’ve grown this year. The last assignment was mainly filled with who you’ve always been. Not wrong, exactly, but I want to know who you are and the steps you’re taking to be who you want to be.”

  Inwardly, I groaned. I’d barely completed it the first time. How was I supposed to come up with a different set of a thousand words to describe me? If this paper was supposed to give me some perspective on how much I’d grown over the course of the semester, I didn’t have much hope. It might show me how I hadn’t grown. I didn’t feel any more evolved than I had in August.

  As I walked home in the cool weather, I questioned every move I’d made since the last paper. I didn’t think the assignment had had its intended effect. I didn’t believe Dr. Rodgers was trying to ruin my life. I wasn’t that dramatic…most days, but this assignment had me so focused on what I was doing—or wasn’t doing—that I was in a constant state of paranoia. If I wasn’t doing something extraordinary, I felt like I was wasting time. Every day. Every blank page.

  I was stuck in an endless cycle. I was so afraid of wasting time I was spending all my time worrying about wasting time, therefore wasting my time.

  The night before the due date, when I finally sat down to write the article, I had no hope of an A. Honestly, my only goal was to submit the assignment on time and it be acceptable enough that Dr. Rodgers didn’t make me redo it. He was known for doing that if he thought we could do better. There were a lot of things I would have rather done than repeat the assignment a third time, like spilling my morning coffee, or getting a flat tire or a Pap smear.

  As I struggled to find more words to describe me, words to describe Ben came easily. I had always seen the confident side of him, as well as the intelligent side, the party side, and even the stressed side, occasionally.

  Now that we spent so much time together, I was witnessing all the other sides. He opened up to me, showing me all the layers beneath the handsome exterior. I was repeatedly in awe of him. He was hard-working, encouraging, light-hearted. I got to see his vulnerable side, his romantic side, and even his protective side once, courtesy of an overly physical drunk at a frat party. He was all man and entirely too responsible for a twenty-one-year-old, which I liked to think balanced out my lack of adulting.

  One thousand words about him were effortless, which had to mean either he was that much better than me or I wasn’t viewing myself clearly. I liked to think it was the latter so I didn’t fall into a bottomless pit of inadequacy, but then the assignment seemed unfair. How was I supposed to write about me when I couldn’t see me?

  So, I had all these labels, just like last time I’d attempted this assignment, all these words that meant so little. There were all these bones inside my body, bones and muscles and ligaments and whatever else held me together in this capsule of skin dotted with the occasional freckle, and yet his fingertips danced across my skin like magic.

  Certain parts of my body—under my ear, the inside of my wrist, my right temple, parts I’d never noticed—came alive under his touch. Those parts of me might as well have been dead, but he awakened them. He made the blood underneath boil and catch flame. The pads of his fingers—they lit me on fire and drowned me in bliss. His touch seared my soul and his fingertips weren’t quick to fade even after the pressure of them had been removed. Maybe they’d never disappear. I wouldn’t complain about it.

  CHAPTER 25

  “OKAY, MS. GRUMPY Butt, did you wake up on the wrong side of the bed?”

  I only nodded slowly. Very, very slowly.

  “Your eyes are still closed,” Ben pointed out from behind his coffee mug.

  Another nod.

  “What time did you go to bed?” he asked as I shuffled across the kitchen in search of caffeinated anything, which would have been easy had I opened my eyes and quit bumping into furniture.

  “Three thirty.”

  “Why’d you stay up so late?”

  “I accidentally read a book,” I mumbled.

  “Accidentally?” he questioned, trying to hold back his smile.

  “Yes, accidentally. I only meant to start it, read a few chapters, meet a few characters. Then in chapter three, there was this really vague flashback, and I had to know what happened. Had to. So I read. And read. It wasn’t until the last chapter that the full flashback was revealed, and by then it was already two.”

  “If you finished the book at two, why’d you stay up until three thirty?”

  “Because,” I explained, exasperated, “the book was so good I couldn’t stop thinking about it. My mind wouldn’t shut off.”

  He looked at me for a long time before pouring me a cup of coffee and kissing my right temple. “We’ll nap later,” he promised with a mumble, his lips still pressed to my skin.

  I smiled because this guy was mine.

  “And dinner afterward?” he asked. “I was thinking Leeman’s.”

  My eyebrows shot up. It was the nicest restaurant in town, and it was always crowded, especially on Friday nights.

  “That’s fancy.” College dating mostly consisted of movies and a cheap dinner, maybe hanging out at home, bowling, free outdoor activities—but never eating at a fancy restaurant, sitting at a table that actually had a tablecloth. At Leeman’s, I wasn’t even sure what to do with my napkin, or why they gave you three forks when I only needed the one.

  Now, after shaving my legs, squeezing myself into a dress I should have donated to a charity for thinner women, and attempting to tame the curls poking out of my crown braid, we were living the fancy life—at least fancy for us.

  Ben had made reservations, so we were seated immediately. The hostess and waitress eyed him appreciatively, which I tried to ignore, but I found myself mentally deducting money from her tip.

  “You should get the ribs,” he suggested as I looked over the menu. The thought made my mouth water. He knew how much I loved ribs, but ribs are not first date food. They are serious relationship food, married people food, and even then, it’d be best to ask for extra wet naps. I decided on a steak and grilled asparagus instead. I did add on a loaded baked potato, though, as a reward for myself for ordering something green. Ben’s order mirrored mine, except his steak had many more ounces.

>   Our waitress delivered our drinks with peppy enthusiasm, mostly directed at Ben. Her eyes lingered a little too long on his forearms. His light blue button-down was rolled up to his elbows and half-tucked into dark jeans. He had that effortlessly handsome look about him, the kind that drew lingering looks from women of all ages and made me curse the hour and a half I’d spent getting ready.

  “What is Lex short for?” he asked after the waitress had given up her advances. “Lexie? Alex? Alexandrea?”

  “It’s just Lex,” I answered, smiling at his guesses. “It’s not short for anything. It’s Lex Noelynn Baxter.”

  “It’s pretty,” he said softly. “Pretty name for a pretty girl.”

  “I’ll be sure to tell my mom.” I laughed, as if I had a choice. “I’m pretty sure both are because of her. What’s your middle name?”

  “Reed. Benjamin Reed Jacobs.” He smiled big, showing those laugh lines I adored.

  “I like it.” I nodded my approval, cutting into my steak.

  “I’ve grown used to it.”

  “Are we going to do the first-date-twenty-questions thing?”

  “Well, I’d say I don’t need to ask about eighteen of them.”

  I raised my eyebrows at him. There was no way I was that predictable.

  “Your favorite color is blue, a light blue. You want to visit Paris more than any other place in the world, like the hopeless romantic you refuse to admit you are. You eat macaroni and cheese when you’re tired. You prefer your own mixes over the radio. You clip out things you like from magazines and store them in categorized folders. You read constantly, and you’re always jotting things down in that leather-bound journal you carry with you everywhere. Also, it’s possible you’re addicted to caffeine.

  “Huh,” I said while his grin covered half of his face.

  “Told you.” I could have done without the cocky smirk. No way was I about to be shown up. I’d spent way too much time studying Ben. I’d never thought my stalker tendencies would come in handy, but here I was about to unleash the full force of my obsessive observations.

  I set my fork down and dabbed at my mouth with my napkin before I started. “Your favorite color is blue, too, but dark blue, like the night sky. There are lots of places you want to go, but you really want to do a cross-country road trip. You listen to country music, except when you’re working out. You wear a white t-shirt under all your nice shirts. You study constantly and have very well-organized notes. You prefer to play football but watch basketball. Your favorite holiday is Thanksgiving because of the food, and you hate hot tea, raisins, and cutting with dull knives.”

  “Looks like we’re doing pretty good at this dating thing.” He laughed. It was true. It really was going much better than I had anticipated or allowed myself to hope for.

  I saw him every day, and we spent the majority of our nights together. We studied together, we ate together, and most of our free time revolved around the other. We were officially together on social media, and Ben had posted quite a few pictures of us, which I had to admit thrilled me. It wasn’t that I cared if the world knew we were dating, but it did make me happy that the population of girls cyberstalking him knew he was taken. My jealousy knew no bounds, apparently.

  His hand reached out to take mine as we left the restaurant. It was a familiar sensation, but it still excited me. “I might have forgotten to tell you, but you look beautiful tonight.” His breath met my hairline in a soft kiss, making me smile past the point of sanity.

  We’d just made it to the truck when I told him, “You’re quite charming, you know that, Benjamin Reed Jacobs?”

  “You find me charming?” He legit batted his eyelashes at me.

  “Me and the entire female population of campus,” I scoffed. “Probably some of the males, too.”

  He was charming. He was also smart, kind, hard-working, and incredibly good-looking, and I was very nearly in love with him.

  The truck stopped in an empty spot on the back side of Lola’s. My eyes begged him to give me some words that matched what my heart felt, just a little something to encourage the free fall my heart had decided to take. My heart, without my consent, and without consulting my brain, had already plummeted into the dreamy depths of love.

  I had made great effort this year to move forward, to grow. The problem was, with Ben I felt like I was taking giant leaps, crossing bridges and jumping canyons much too fast for my feeble heart to keep up. I wanted to give him my heart right then, wanted to cut open my chest and force him to take it. Special delivery! I won’t be needing this anymore.

  I smiled at him, ignoring the fact that my heart had been ripped out of my chest, tied in a pretty bow, and delivered to his open palm. I could live with that, I thought. What scared me was him not wanting it. I just kept picturing my heart, cracked and damaged, with a sticker on the front: Return to Sender. If I stopped and thought about it, I would realize I was not so slowly becoming wrapped up in Benjamin Jacobs. Currently, though, I was much happier living in denial.

  CHAPTER 26

  MY DAY BEGAN as well as can be expected. Stretching my legs, which were tangled in my blankets, I searched for my phone. The short, repetitive vibrating had woken me. Knowing it was probably a text from Ben, I rummaged through the fifteen throw pillows I slept on looking for it.

  Another vibration told me it was under a white ruffle pillow that matched my curtains. Good morning, baby the first one read. The second, which had appeared moments later, said, See you soon?

  Meaning he was ready to head this way. I appreciated his urge to see me. Sometimes I just wished it came at a later hour. I responded only with emojis. Texting was not a skill I possessed. Jules could get guys to propose with less than fifty words, and I was over here struggling to not sound sarcastic. Showing emotion via technology is ridiculous. I’d write something I thought was freaking poetic, then I’d sleep on it and wake up thinking I’d just completely ruined all my chances for further communication. Then I’d stare at the reminder and have to relive the conversation over and over and over.

  I stared at my phone, waiting for the little bubbles to appear, indicating that he was typing a response. Before I got out of bed, I wanted to make sure he really was on his way. If I could get by with five more minutes, I would. When they popped up, I waited and waited. Nothing happened.

  The bubbles went away. Whoever made that feature should be paying a lot of therapy bills. I rolled over, my back to my phone, content to doze until I was sure I couldn’t put it off any longer. When it vibrated twenty seconds later, proving that Ben would arrive in ten minutes, I got out of bed. I had only brushed my teeth when I heard the knock on the door. It seemed like my breath was the highest priority at the moment.

  The coffee he handed me at the door was just how I liked it, loaded with cream and sugar. I started with coffee for obvious reasons, the most obvious being that the sun had just barely come up. I was just beginning to be happy about being awake when I saw his coffee cup—the name Chelsey was written on it, along with a phone number. I cursed red Sharpies under my breath, causing Ben to laugh.

  “Babe,” he started when I gave him a glare that would have made a lesser man wither. “You’re jealous!” he cackled.

  “Yeah. So? It hurts. Do you think I’m bulletproof?”

  His smile softened as he walked over to me, so close I had to look up to see him. “Yeah.” He smiled. “You have these strong walls built up, and I forget you can be hurt.” He drew me into him, where I willingly went. “She means nothing to me, you know.”

  “I know.” I exhaled, letting him kiss my temple. “I just wish she knew.”

  I dragged him into the kitchen where I had work to do before I left the apartment. Ben was content to sip his coffee, open textbook in front of him.

  While doing the dishes, I’d occasionally break out in spontaneous song, and I did so now.

  “You really want to be a Disney princess, don’t you?” Ben laughed from the kitchen table, which he’d t
aken up as his study post.

  “And have forest creatures clean my house. What’s not to love?” He shook his head as I finished up the dirty dishes that mainly consisted of coffee mugs.

  “What do you have today?” he asked me as I started to get ready.

  “My journalism class was canceled, but I have a meeting with Sherri this morning, and then I’m blissfully free for the afternoon.”

  After I threw on a clean pair of jeans and an old t-shirt, Ben dropped me off on the south side of campus in front of the business department where Sherri’s office was located. I had grown to like her more over the last couple of months. If she hadn’t constantly been pointing out my shortcomings, we probably could have been friends. If I had anything in common with a middle-aged mother of three who enjoyed the great outdoors, it was evidenced by the pictures that decorated her walls.

  “So, Ms. Baxter, we only have a few sessions left. Do you feel like we’ve accomplished anything with our time together?”

  Besides making me feel inadequate, you mean?

  “Well,” I said, trying to buy myself more time. “I don’t know. I think you were probably hoping I’d change my mind about writing and find a normal job. I know my dad’s been hoping that for years.” I laughed. “But every time I think about doing something different, I feel like there’s a void in my chest.”

  When I had a severe case of writer’s block, I questioned my choice to be a writer. I mean, really, I probably would have been better off as a teacher or a doctor, a job with a guaranteed paycheck. Then I’d go spiraling into a depression thinking I’d wasted four years and all this money for nothing. What can you do with a writing degree if you can’t write? What would I do? I thought I’d be pretty good at making those rubber band balls. Maybe that was my calling.