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For the eldest daughters in my life I see you I appreciate you and most important I love you for who you are and not what you do for everyone
“But a Book is only the Heart’s Portrait—every Page a Pulse.” —Emily Dickinson
because I’ve also been putting him first for as long as I can remember. Putting everyone first, in fact. I’ve spent my entire life being encumbered by the tasks and responsibilities other people don’t want. I make sacrifices without question because that’s what I’ve always done, and at this point, it’s hard to know if it’s a true desire to help or just habit.
I’m tired of being a passenger in my own life. So if Will is going to spend junior year doing things for himself, so am I.
Be more organized. Come to me sooner. I don’t know how to explain to someone who doesn’t live inside my head that they could have physically carried me to the office or glued a laptop down in front of me and I’d have still found a way to avoid the task.
Junior year is for sure going to kick my ass, but I’m the eldest daughter and nobody taught me how to say no.
These are the experiences I’ve read about in romance books. The hot bad boy showing interest in the—let’s face it—inexperienced, sheltered virgin. We’re a cliché, and drunk me finds it funny, but I suspect sober me would be embarrassed as hell.
“I never talk about you, Kris.” Henry shrugs in the nonchalant way he does. “It’s only important that she remembers my name.”
“Do you want to see me naked to even things out?” She laughs at that one, but that one wasn’t a joke. “As glorious as I’m sure it is, I’ll pass. God, you must think I’m so embarrassing. I’m so sorry. Drinking is a new thing for me and I think I overdid it. Again.”
“Bad hockey player. Bad boyfriend. Figures,”
“I have no interest in hearing you list the redeeming qualities of your mediocre ex.”
“Important question. Whose name was on your jersey?” “It doesn’t have a name. It wasn’t actually mine, I borrowed it from Ava.” The car pulls up to the curb and I hold the door open for her to climb in. “Yeah, we’re fixing that on Monday.”
“Don’t apologize. It’s not your fault; you’ve been brainwashed by the cosmetics industry and men with porn addictions.” A laugh chokes its way out of me.
“HEY, DAYDREAMER,”
“You’re being very quiet,” she whispers. “It’s my brand.” “What’re you daydreaming about?” You. Always you.
“That’s because it’s less book and more chaotic ramblings of a woman who daydreams too much and spends her time finding the perfect playlist when she should be writing. Anyway, don’t distract me when we’re talking about you.”
“I’d tell you how fucking beautiful you are. That when you laugh I want to listen to it forever. I’d tell you that when I daydream, I think of us. And all the things I want us to do. And all the things I want to do to you.”
“Show me how you want me to touch you, Halle.”
“I’ve never actively wanted someone the way I want you. I genuinely thought I was broken in some way for a really long time. I know I’m not, but that’s how I was made to feel, and it was hard to unlearn. So that’s the first new experience.”
“You’re my perfect canvas, Halle. Every part of you. But good to both of those things. I like your body, too, and I like being the only one to see it.” Perfect canvas.
“I spend a lot of time daydreaming about lying in them. Feels like it would be peaceful. I’ve developed a fondness for daisies, too.”
“Promise me you’ll let me experience going to a meadow with you.” “I promise.”
“My sweet girl,”
This might be my favorite romance book, but we’re my favorite love story. Yours always, Henry
