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“What?”

“Met someone?” he asked gently, and I scoffed. It was a knee-jerk reaction. “Right,” he muttered, and not sharing felt wrong.

“Yeah,” my voice cracked. I cleared it. “I think I’ve met the one,” I added without hesitation. Whatever doubts I’d had were quickly melting away, slipping through my fingers as I gave in to what my heart and soul wanted.

“What’s she like?” he asked, and where I usually told someone to buzz off, I didn’t.

“She’s…” I paused, and it was like a damn broke.

I couldn’t shut up.

I told him everything about my sweet Joy.

From the first letter, the exact number of letters, to tonight showing up at the bar she’d been in and not telling her the truth off the bat. He let me talk, laughing at me and how stupid I’d been.

I caught him up to how I’d found myself sitting in my car on base, full of regret for not having kissed her.

And Chuck just listened.

Laughed at the glitter and confetti messes her letters had left me with time after time. I even shot him a couple of the pictures I had taken of the ground. By the time I was done, I felt a little lighter.

Happier.

Less muddled up.

“What do you think I should do?” I asked my big brother for advice for the first time since I asked him what tie I should wear for my high school graduation.

“Do you love her?” he asked without judgment, and I was nodding before the three-letter word slipped past my lips.

“Yes.”

“Then… if you’re up for it—”

“What do you mean, up for it?”

“Linc, you just got discharged. Your body—

“Is fine. Just… scarred up.”

“Right, but are you tired?” he asked cautiously.

“No. I mean…” I was. I was exhausted, but at the same time, I was invigorated. “I’m fine.”

“Call her.”

“Shouldn’t I just go over there?” I asked, the urge to see her again, to breathe the same air as her so damn overwhelming.

“You up for the drive?”

“If it means I’m gonna see her, yes,” I quickly responded, and it surprised me.

There was fierceness in my voice I’d never heard before. And that’s when I realized I wasn’t freaking out about connecting too much with someone. About tangling my life with hers. Because somehow, through letters, we’d already done that. There was no fighting her getting under my skin because she was already there. Bone deep.

“Well… there you go. I think no matter what I tell you, you already know what to do.”

“Thanks, Chuck.”

“Just… if you do this, be clear. Communicate.”