More on this book
Community
Kindle Notes & Highlights
“Fletcher, you really don’t have to—” “No. I don’t have to do anything. But I really want to do this. With you.”
Tonight was useless, wasn’t it? Trying to diminish how much I like this man was useless.
Fletcher never thought of himself as a knight in shining armor kind of guy, never really cared enough to be the type. But, if that’s what Flora needed, he would gladly accept that label and save her anytime.
I look back up to see Fletcher smiling at me. I would like to keep his face just like that. Would like to take a mental screenshot and keep it in my favorites folder for safe keeping.
“Can I ask something?”
“Always.” I love that every answer Fletcher has is definitive. No thinking. No questioning. No ‘umms’ or humming silence as he wonders what is best for everyone else to hear. He just blurts it all right out. Sometimes it hurts, Mr. ‘I Don’t Get Romance,’ and sometimes, it feels like you’ve been hooked up to an IV connected directly to the sun. Incredible. Pretty. The smartest one in the room, Flora no doubt. Always.
Having never lost anyone close myself, I can’t say I understand. I can’t give advice or encouragement. I can’t say he’s in a better place—I didn’t know the guy—and I can’t share stories, memories, or moments that have drifted into the space of time that he no longer has a key to. But, I can listen. I can nod and smile and laugh when he talks about the days of a younger Fletcher and his best friend. I can ask questions, like ‘what was his favorite tv show?’ or ‘did he read a lot, or did he just collect books?’ I can be a buffer in a place that I’m not sure anyone else has ever been for him.
...more
Our tangled fingers rest in the space between our laps. My entire body is pulsing, and I am practically vibrating in this seat at the warmth in his touch—the way his thumb, gentle but firm, caresses the back of my hand. He runs circles over a birthmark near my knuckles, outlining the edge of it like he needs to memorize the shape. I always thought I had big hands—it always felt like it compared to the woman around me—but Fletcher’s swallow mine whole.
I want him to stay there as long as possible. I want this ferry ride to last through the night, nothing but our laughter, hand holding, and the questioning thought of just how far we can push this scenario without me having to acknowledge tonight’s eventual end. Midnight will strike, the sun will rise, time will go on, and whereas this might be some pity sympathy date on Fletcher’s end, this is going to be the night I keep tucked in my pocket for years to come.
His sigh is so guttural that I barely notice the shaking in his hands against my touch.
“Stop, Fletcher,” I say, matching his tone. “I don’t care what you think about it, nothing in that horrible situation is your fault, and I refuse to sit here and let you toss the blame on my closest friend.”
When he looks back up to me, the pure devastation in his eyes makes me feel like I’ve been punched in the gut.
“I know now what words can do. My whole career I’ve used words so carelessly in everything I have written and put out for the world to read as their own interpretation. But, I never realized just how powerful the tongue is until Ryan was gone. How every letter and every word and every sentence is shaping up someone else's life.”
“Fletcher,” I whisper. “You couldn’t have done anything.” “Maybe. Maybe not. I won’t get to find out.” He looks out to the city skyline, wind whipping around us. “But, I know I will never say something I don’t mean again. I won’t ever slip out a word without knowing it’s exactly what I want to and should say.”
Moments pass like sand in an hourglass, each granule a different space of silence where we allow his promise to the world to linger in the distance. I don’t have the capacity to push comfort. For someone who has all the words, I fall surprisingly silent.
“I…didn’t realize I was doing that.” I squeeze his fingers again. “You don’t have to overthink every word with me, okay? If you pick one person that gets to have you unfiltered, then let it be me.”
When I turn back, Fletcher is beaming. Any previous sign of fret and worry has slipped away, and I’m left with this raw version of the man I tried so hard to rid my mind of.
It’s a double-edged sword, that sentence. On one hand, I am so horribly embarrassed that while I’ve been over here daydreaming about kissing him and holding his hand and dancing in the moonlight by the water, he’s been thinking what a great friend I am. On the other hand, I’m his best friend. And what a privilege it is to be called Fletcher Harding’s anything. Best friend. What an unworthy title for a woman who has no clue who she even is, for someone who had to research what her favorite color was before a date. For someone who’s loud and too much and always over the top and—
It has to do with Austin’s words in my head of ‘too much’ and ‘over the top’ and ‘extremely enthusiastic,’ on top of learning tonight that I might be exactly all three of those things. That I have physical proof right here that maybe I can get someone in my life, but can I keep them there? The short answer is no. And I think I can grow to accept that one day. I can accept it with just about anyone but Fletcher. I’ve had a handsome, kind, big-hearted man tell me I was his best friend before and lost him in the same way you lose your favorite hoodie. One day it’s your everything, the one thing
...more
“I’m the old hoodie,” I sob. “Hey, hey, hey.” Fletcher furrows his brows and tucks his hand under my chair, pulling it to his side so our legs are pushed together.
The closer we get to our street, the slower our steps become. Fletcher's long strides have shortened into a dragging shuffle, and I slow down to stop and look at something every block. Can this night just keep going on? Can a night doomed to be my very worst that transitioned into the best one I’ve had since moving here last just a little longer?
