Returned With Notes
romanceEveryoneI'm off the porch before I can think. Me: 'Any good?' They jump. Hold up the book like evidence. 'Sorry — is this yours? The notes. Are they yours?' Up close: my age. Nervous. A pen tucked behind their ear like they came ready to reply. Me: 'The black pen is me.' They stare. Then: 'You didn't write back.'
Me: 'I wanted to know who I was talking to first.' They look at the book, then at me. 'And now?' Me: 'Now I'm talking to you.' The beagle guy passes again and definitely slows down to listen. They flip the book open to page 63 and hold it out. 'I'm not letting you off the hook. I asked you a real question on this page. Read it.'
What happens next?
1 ways forwardPage 63, blue pen, next to a line about second chances: 'Do you believe people can just... meet? Like this? Or does it only happen in books?' I look up. They're watching me read it, ears going red. Me: 'Ask me in person.' 'Do you—' Me: 'Yes.' Nothing about the street changed. Same box, same books, same 8:40. Except now we walk there together. And we both bring pens.