Page 43 of Drawn Together

I think it’s been there for a long time, maybe even before I knew I had a crush on him.

Maybe since he first annotated a book for me, or since we went to the park that day, or maybe with every word of the day he sends me.

Maybe it’s the way he so sweetly brushes my hair out of my face when it gets in my way.

I don’t know when it started, and I certainly don’t know where it ends, but I do know that it’s all I have in me right now. Looking at this man is just love.

“Fletcher,” is all I whisper, but my hands are on his suit—his not funeral suit—and I think I might lean in, because he dips his mouth to my ear just for me and whispers, “Maybe see everyone else first, and we can do this after?”

I don’t know what this all entails, but I look behind him to see everyone else and my chest lurches.

Edith and her ex-husband dressed as Frog and Toad from…

Frog and Toad. Noah is a police officer—apparently, he really likes a uniform.

Margot is a sexy Indiana Jones. Then Lennon and Stephan as little red riding hood and a wolf.

Even Cliff is here, dressed as…a pigeon?

I think? Miss Gonzales from the third floor is here, wearing a ghost face mask, but she keeps slipping it off because she can’t breathe with it on.

Two of the moms from Nook and Cranny are here as Tinkerbell and Wendy.

I didn’t even think that they knew my name as anything other than story time lady, much less would come to a party for me.

“You—” I glance around at this small, wonderful party that this precious soul of a man planned just for me. And all the people that willingly came to it. “You guys are all here?”

“Don’t be so shocked,” Lennon rasps to my right. “Of course we’re here.”

The next thirty minutes I am a rabbit, bouncing from person to person with snacks and drinks and asking who needs what.

When Lennon slips down the hall and I rush over to ask her if she needs help, she insists she just needs to pee and forces me to go see Fletcher so I can stop trying to ‘play hostess,’ something I did not even realize I was doing.

I slip over to where Fletcher, Stephan, and Noah are flipping through his vinyl records, fighting over who plays what next.

“Hi.” I tug at his shirt’s cuff and look up at Fletcher.

“Hi.” He grins down at me.

“You know that book we’ve been talking about?”

“With the struggling artist?” His brow quirks.

“That’s the one. Do you remember that one scene where they danced at a Halloween slash surprise birthday party?”

“Remember that time he locked her in a coat closet until she got her senses back?” he deadpans.

“Remember that time when he said he would, but instead decided dancing was far better than causing me—I mean, her—trauma.”

His smile is slow and thick, but it’s there, and I never want it to leave.

“I guess I do remember that.”

“Thought so.”

He sets down both our drinks on a table, with no coaster, and wraps an arm around mine, bringing me around the small group of people to the tiny deck outside their sliding glass door.

As soon as we’re outside, the chill settles deep into my bones, wrapping its way around my body and tugging me close. I’m starting to like the cold. It’s become less of a stranger on the street and more like an old friend coming to say hello.

Fletcher slides the glass door closed with one hand then joins me to look out at the city skyline in the distance, lights dancing around us. The music from inside follows us, just a tad more dull.

I take a few steps closer, and just as I’m about to raise my arms around him to dance, Fletcher whips one hand out from his back and there’s a box between us.

It’s horribly wrapped—pieces of tape sticking up like cowlicks—and there’s patches of extra polka-dot pink wrapping paper taped sporadically.

It’s topped off with a shiny white bow half holding on at the top.

It is the most lovely thing I have ever seen.

“It’s, uh…” Fletcher tugs at the back of his neck. “I’m not very good at wrapping.”

“It’s perfect.” I smile.

“You don’t even know what it is.”

“I know it’s perfect.”

Because it’s from him. And he wrapped it. And maybe that does say a lot about my expectations of people, that imagining Fletcher wrapping this in his living room is the cutest thing ever, but I don’t care. I love it already.

I take the box from him and hold it tight to my chest. “Thank you so, so much, Fletcher.”

“Are you even going to open it?”

“I might not.”

He smirks and brushes a curl behind my ear. “Would you open it for me?”

“Well, I suppose now I have to.”

We sit down at the small table and chairs he and Stephan have set to the side. He tugs my chair closer to him so our knees graze one another, and all the heat in my body rushes to the small sliver of his touch.

I raise the box to my ear and shake, and a low hollow sound follows. “Hmm, is it a picture frame?”

“You’d find out if you opened it.”

My eyes squint. “So, that’s a yes.”

He gives me a deadpan look with the tiniest quirk of his lips.

“Alright, alright." I pull at the wrapping paper. “You should know you could probably just give me a used t-shirt and I would love—”

Words lodge themselves in my throat at the smallest glimpse of a pale pink spine. The words are faded—the golden font almost fully wiped away—but I pick up just enough to know exactly what I have in my hands.

Pip’s Moonlit Wish.

I peel back the rest of the paper, and sure enough, there she is, in her pink and glittery glory.

My favorite little hedgehog in a tutu smiles up at me like an old friend waving hello.

I lift the cover and go to the copyright to see the date at the bottom, confirming this is exactly what I thought it was.

A first edition copy of the book I fell headfirst in love with. The first book that made me wonder if I could somehow be an illustrator, if I could chase my dreams enough to draw a hedgehog on a book for some other little girl out there to pick up and take with her. Make her own dream out of it.

Fletcher clears his throat. “Do you like it?” Those hazel eyes of his stare down at me, like he’s actually worried about me not enjoying this. Not enjoying him.

“Fletcher. This is…” I shake my head. “I don’t have the words.”

“A rare occasion.” He smiles.

“It’s becoming less and less rare when I’m with you.”

I gently set my new prized possession on the table before practically jumping into his lap. My arms wrap around his neck, his body warm and firm, and tug him to me. “Thank you so much,” I whisper right in his ear.

“Thank you,” he whispers back when I pull away. He lifts a hand, thumb brushing away a stray tear down my cheek before wiping it off on his shirt.

“For what?” I laugh through my tears. “I haven’t given you anything.”

“You could give me that dance you talked about.”

“Hardly a fair trade.”

“Speak for yourself.”

With the music transitioning into the following song, he stands from his chair, offering his hand to me while simultaneously guiding me closer to his chest. I glance back through the glass door and see that we’re not the only ones taking advantage of the slow song.

Stephan has his head on Lennon's shoulder, placing gentle kisses along her neck.

Noah has Margot against a wall—honestly, good for them both.

Even Edith and her ex-husband are holding each other's backsides as they sway side to side.

“Fletcher?” I lean my head to his chest as his arms wrap around my waist, as we move in a gentle rock back and forth.

“Hm?”

“It hasn’t gone anywhere.”

“The crush?”

“Yeah.”

He kisses the spot where my hair meets my temple, tender and sweet. “I know. Mine hasn’t, either.”

“You planned an entire party for me.”

“I did.”

“And put on a costume.”

“Correct.”

“With a mask.”

“Well, if I didn’t have that part, everyone would think I’m just a man who wears ugly, old suits.”

I sniffle. “You got me a first edition of my favorite book.”

“If anyone deserved it, it’s you.”

My head lifts so I can meet his eyes. “Why would you do this for me?”

“Why do you think, Flora?”

I bite at my lip. “How honest am I supposed to be here?”

“It’s us. You’re supposed to say everything you’re thinking.”

“Then…I think I’m scared. About how,” I lift my hands from his chest to give this vast gesture, searching for anything that could plug into this moment to describe the emotions running through my beating heart, “verklempt all of this is.”

His word of the day last week.

That makes him smile.

My fingers raise to his mask and lift it so it rests on his hair, allowing me to take in all of him. I unveil every freckle, hair, dimple, curved nostril, eyelashes—all of it. I don’t want to miss out on a single part of him right here, right now.

“Flora, I could spend every hour I have left searching for the right letters to draw together to make up some word for how I feel about you, and I’d still never find it.”

I suck in a breath. “I think…me too.”

“Every time I tried to find a reason to convince myself that I didn’t like you, you’d come right back and do something new to make me fall all over again.

It’s rather rude of you, actually.” He laughs, and the vibrations against my skin sound like home.

“To fit into my life before I was ready for you. And when I’m upset about my feelings for you, I want to call you. You know how messed up that is?”

I nod feverishly. “I know exactly how messed up it is.” Because, even if I went to Lennon or Sloane or anyone else out there about what we have right here, I know they could only understand a third-person perspective.

I lift on my toes to kiss him, and he pulls back, covering my mouth with his hand. “I need a few weeks.”

“Bah—” I lick his palm so he’ll move it, but it doesn’t deter the man, so I pull back so I can shout, “A few weeks?”

He smiles down at me. “I’ve got plans. Ones that I’m not willing to rush with you.”

“I feel like if we found a dusty corner to make out in, it wouldn’t really rush things that much.”

“Speak for yourself. I know exactly what I’m up against here.” He rubs his chest and takes in my dress one more time, from my feet up to my chest. “Look, I feel like I get one chance at this.”

“I can give you at least three chances—”

He narrows his eyes at me, and I know exactly what he means. Not this, as in this moment, but this, as in this entire thing we have here.

“I want to make it right from the start. And that means I have to take care of some…stuff first.”

“Stuff?”

“Yes.”

“Want to be more specific?”

He laughs. “Not particularly.”

“What exactly are we taking care of?”

“It’s just me handling it all. You’re perfect just as you are. Don’t change a thing.”

“Well,” my fingers trail across his throat and I watch him swallow, “maybe not. If we put our heads together, surely we can knock this thing out in what, an hour? Then meet back up, kick everyone out, and parlay.”

“Parlay?” He giggles. Giggles.

What in the world could he possibly have to take care of for us to be…whatever we want to be?

Is there someone else? The thought of any woman out there being near him and touching him and kissing him—the thought of a ‘let me go talk to her real quick and get right back to you so we can be together without guilt’ talk—the thought of being a Michelle. All of it twists and pulls at my stomach.

Fletcher must notice, because he pulls back, fingers encompassing my wrist.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

“The thing you have to do…is it, I mean, are you like—”

“Whatever you’re thinking, say it all. Ask it all. I’ll answer anything you ask me.”

“Is there, gosh this feels so weird.”

“Keep going.” His thumb presses into my pulse point, as if pushing his will through my veins all the way to my brain. And I guess it works, because I just blurt it right out.

“Is there another woman? Do you have a secret girlfriend or something? A marriage of convenience wife so you can both mutually benefit a large trust fund?”

Fletcher laughs in these big cackles with his head tossed back and hair wild, and I know I have my answer before he even could say it. “No girlfriends or wives or anyone else for that matter.” His fingers adorably cross an X over his heart. “You know I’m yours, love.”

Have sweeter words ever existed until now? Not that I know of. Not that my word of the day app has ever shown me.

“And if you can hold off on torturing me by going out with other men…”

I snort a laugh. “What men?”

“All the ones who would love to be right where I am right now.” He grips my fingers tight.

“If there’s a movie you want to see, I’ll take you.

If there’s a restaurant you want to try out, I’ll pay for dinner.

If you want to stay home and just read on the couch, I will gladly join you.

You don’t have to find a random guy to do any of that—you already have me.

Just give me some time, and I’ll make sure I’m worth it for you, alright? ”

“Worth it for me?”

He dips his chin to me. “Give me that time, and I’ll have you in any dusty corner you want us in.”

“It’s just as well; I don’t know if we would work.” My traitor of a grin should be a dead giveaway of the lie on my tongue, but the panic in Fletcher’s eyes tells me he didn’t pick up on it.

“You don’t?”

“I mean, of course we can never be together. Our couple name would just be Flora or Fletcher.”

Fletcher’s head cocks back with a loud laugh, no more tiny giggles or chuckles for him. He guffaws into the cool air, and I feel like setting a bookmark into this moment right here.

“If you need me to change my name for you, baby, I will.”