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Kindle Notes & Highlights
by
Maia Aaron
Read between
March 25 - March 29, 2023
He hates me, of that I’m sure. Maybe he’s never audibly said the words, but he doesn’t have to. I can feel it. I can see it. There are moments, small and big ones, that prove it to me. Like when we’re playing the piano together during our ‘lessons’, and his hand accidentally brushes mine, and he pulls it away like he’s been scorned, like he can’t even stand to touch me. Or when he actively tries to get on my nerves, doing things that he knows irritate me, like fake-flirting with me and staring at me even though he knows I hate it.
“You mean your day didn’t get worse when you saw me?” He turns his head to grin at me, and it makes my stomach flip in annoyance. “Maybe my day got better when I saw you.”
God, she’s so fucking beautiful.
Wendy turns in her chair until her knees are pointed towards me and her body is facing in my direction, and I suck in a breath. Her gorgeous green eyes fall onto mine, and I can’t help focusing on the way the sun shines through the windows, the beams making her chestnut brown hair look almost golden. Her heart-shaped lips are slightly parted, and I notice the way she swallows nervously before releasing a breath through them, like she’s preparing to say something, but she’s anxious to say it.
I would do anything for her, just to get her to be happy with me, just for once.
All I know is that Wendy Marin is the only thing that gets my heart pounding in my chest, and she’s the only one who’s ever been able to make my whole body heat up from a simple brush of her hand against mine. And I want nothing more than to make her feel the same way about me.
“I’m slamming your head onto the piano keys. Multiple times. Until that pretty boy face of yours is all smashed in.” My heart flips in my chest. Did she just call me a pretty boy? As in, she thinks my face is pretty? Does Wendy Marin think I’m pretty? “You think I’m pretty?” I ask, trying not to show how fucking elated I am that Wendy Marin just called me pretty.
She huffs, and I swear she’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.
“You’d seriously be willing to give me your entire weekends?” I nod. “You don’t have anything better to do?” Better than seeing you? No.
I hear the doorbell ring, letting me know that Wendy’s here. I tuck my phone back into the pocket of my jeans as I make my way to the front door, and the sight of her looking so beautiful on my doorstep knocks my breath out of my lungs, the same way seeing her always does. She’s in long, beige-colored pants with a light-green cardigan covered in daisies on top of a tucked in white shirt. Her hair is half-up, half-down, her bangs falling around the sides of her face, and she looks like an angel with the way the sunlight is hitting her.
“Fitz didn’t mention you were such a lovely lady.” He grins, baring his straight, white teeth, looking down at her like she’s dessert on a fucking plate. Prick. Yes, I did. Multiple fucking times. Like, every day. Asshole.
“Wendy, James. James, Wendy. James is my roommate, and Wendy is…” My picture of the perfect girl. “...my partner for the upcoming piano competition.”
I finally let her wrist drop. My fingers miss the warmth of her skin immediately, so much so that they flex by my side, and I shove them into my pockets so she can’t notice. It then hits me that I also need to apologize.
Because even though we’re making progress, I doubt we’ve gotten to the point where me saying I’m head over heels for you and I tried to kiss you because I felt like I needed to taste you more than I needed to breathe wouldn’t send her running for the hills.
Her head lifts up so she can look at me, and I see her eyes shimmer with what looks like unshed tears, and it’s like I’ve been stabbed in the chest. I don’t want her to cry. I want to take away whatever is hurting her and let it become my pain instead. I’d do anything if it meant she’d never cry of sadness or pain or anger or any negative feeling ever again.
My focus is completely on the lady in front of us, but it’s torn away the second I feel a hand brushing mine. My eyes fall to where my hand is hanging limply at my side, and I try not to let my eyes widen too much when I see that it’s Wendy’s hand. Her pinky is grazing mine, moving back and forth against my skin, but that’s not what startles me. What startles me is that she’s looking up at me now, her eyes locked on mine, but not even that distracts me from the way the rest of her fingers join her pinky until our hands are pressed together. Her fingers brush my palm, and it triggers a
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This might end up being the most embarrassing moment of my life, but I don’t care. I intertwine my fingers with hers, and I hold my breath as I wait for her to curl her fingers around mine. One. Two. Three. She does. Thank God. I squeeze her hand once. She squeezes mine back.
She looks away from me, but I don’t let that stop me from looking at her. There’s nothing in this world but her.
She’s smiling at me, a smile I feel burying itself in the center of my chest and stealing my breath away and burning itself into my mind and taking hold of every part of me until it’s swallowed me whole. Has she ever looked this beautiful?
God, I would’ve done this competition a hundred times over if I knew getting Wendy to smile at me was the fucking prize.
“You don’t need to thank me when I would crawl to the ends of the earth just to make you this happy and even happier every single day for as long as you let me,” is what I want to say, but it only comes out as, “You’re more than welcome.”
I must stumble or something because suddenly Fitz is pulling me to him, his arms wrapping around my waist and his hand coming to bring my head to his chest. He’s holding me.
I want to tell him everything, but I can’t seem to get the words out. So instead, I just cry. I cry into his chest, my tears staining his shirt as he hugs me tighter, and I don’t even notice that he’s sat us both down on the floor until I feel him move my legs so that I’m straddling him and sitting on his lap.
For some reason, it only makes me feel safe. I feel safe when I bury my face into his neck, I feel safe when he strokes my hair, and I feel safe when he shushes softly, muttering, “You’re okay, sweetheart. I’ve got you,” against my temple.
“So. Who’s your favorite artist?” “You mean, like, music?” Fitz nods. “Oh. Well, that’s easy. Taylor Swift.”
“What’s your favorite Taylor Swift song?” Okay, great. Easy question. Simple answers. I can do that. “Hm…probably Lover. It’s really romantic.”
Suddenly, the song Gorgeous by Taylor Swift starts playing in my head as I watch him, and I curse inwardly. It’s one thing to let myself think I might not hate him and that he’s not terrible-looking, but the fact that I’ve started to correlate Taylor Swift songs to him? Yeah, that’s how I know it’s bad. Really fucking bad.
His lithe fingers start gently pressing the keys, playing notes that I don’t recognize at first. It’s not for another few seconds that it finally sinks in what he’s playing. It’s the song Lover. By Taylor Swift. The one I told him was my favorite that day when we played Twenty Questions. I can’t breathe.
“The reason I couldn’t touch you was never because I didn’t want to. I didn’t touch you, Wendy, because I wanted to so badly that I was sure you’d notice. I didn’t touch you because I was afraid that if I did, you would know just how much of an effect you have on me. That you’d see the way my cheeks turned red and my breathing quickened and I’d stop being able to form coherent fucking sentences.” He stops, growling in frustration. “God, Wendy, I’ve wanted to touch you every second of every goddamn day since I met you. I’ve wanted to hold your hand and hold you and kiss you. God, I’ve wanted to
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“No,” I whisper, so quietly I’m not even sure he heard me. “I don’t hate you, Fitz.” That’s all it takes. That one answer, and suddenly his fingers are weaving themselves into my hair to pull my head back so he can cover my mouth with his own. His lips are moving against mine with urgency and familiarity, like this is a piece he’s spent years memorizing and now knows exactly every which note to play. Like we’ve done this a million times before and it’s just muscle memory now.
He’s kissing me like he’s thought about doing so so many times, and maybe he has, because he’s kissing me like he can’t control himself, like he’s finally being fed the one thing he’s been craving for so long.
“You’re so goddamn beautiful, Wendy,” I tell her, because I need her to know. I need her to know that there hasn’t been a single moment, from the minute we met, when I’ve looked at her and didn’t lose my balance at how perfect she is. “Sometimes it’s so hard to look at you because I’m scared that if I do for too long, I’ll never stop. Because God knows I never would if I could.”
I decide to pick it up and flip through it, and I land on a page that she’s got tabbed. Based on the cover, I’m assuming it’s some cute romantic comedy where the…Oh. Oh.
LMAO
“I’m buying myself a copy to read. I want to know about everything that makes you happy.”
A blush spreads throughout her cheeks as she tugs her bottom lip between her teeth, and I want to kiss her so badly, my hands are literally itching. It only intensifies when she turns back to the shelves and continues skimming over the books, her eyes sparkling. I want to capture how beautiful she looks like this, with nothing but pure joy ridden across her features, so I pull out my phone and quietly snap a few photos. Perfect.
I lean against one of the shelves and shove my hands in my pockets. She’s pulling out a few books and reading over the synopsis of each one before she decides whether or not to keep it, and I count around five books in her hands in the span of about seven minut...
This highlight has been truncated due to consecutive passage length restrictions.
After a minute of silence, the crease disappears and his gaze turns soft again. The hand that’s covering mine picks it up and slowly places it on his chest, and then he flattens my palm on the space over his heart. The thudding of his heart is right against my hand, and it startles me how fast I can feel it beating. “This is why, Wendy,” he breathes, and my own heartbeat quickens in my chest. “Feel how hard it’s beating? That’s all because of you. It’s always because of you.”
“You’re fucking incredible, love. How do you not see that?” He pauses and sighs. “You’re strong. You work harder than anyone I know. You’re smart and gentle and insanely beautiful and fiercely loyal. You don’t take people’s shit, and you’d do anything for the people you love. I never saw you as just the version of yourself that acted like you hated me, Wendy. I saw all the snippets of yourself that you let me see and all of the versions of yourself that make up all of you, and I was in awe of every single one. I still am. “And this new version that you’ve given me? I appreciate it more than
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I wasn’t into the whole dating scene, and I wanted something real, and I don’t know. I guess I could never see myself having that with anyone.” He pauses, and then I feel his finger under my chin, lifting it so that I’m looking up at him. “But then I met you.” He places a soft peck on my lips. “And I could see everything with you, Wendy.”
“How’d you know this is my usual?” He chuckles, and the sound makes me feel warm all over. Jeez. Have I always been this horny? “You had a cup of that stuff in your hand every time I saw you for eight months, baby. Hard not to figure it out.”
My heart fucking swells. This woman is beyond perfect for me.
“You’re beautiful,” she breathes, and I can’t help but blush a little and let out a laugh. I’ve never had anyone call me that before, but I only ever want to hear it from her.
Lifting his free hand, he drags a gentle thumb across my forehead, his eyes soft and comforting. “I wish you’d let me come with you.” My brows knit together. “Where?” He taps his thumb against my temple. “Here.”
And this is it. This is the moment I realize, with the utmost certainty, that I am completely, utterly, wholly, absolutely, beautifully, and achingly in love with Wendy Marin.
I get in my car, and when This Is Me Trying by Taylor Swift starts blasting through the speakers, I immediately skip the song before it can turn into my final straw. Great song, but now is definitely not the time for it.
After a long, hot shower spent listening to the Reputation album by Taylor Swift and scrubbing my mouth to get rid of that awful vomit taste, I thankfully feel the hangover slowly subsiding.
And, God, do I love her. I love her like nothing else. Because without her, there is nothing else.
I love you. I love you. I love you. You’re the air I breathe. Your smile is the only one I ever want to see. I don’t want to think unless it’s of you. Without you, I am nothing, but with you, I am everything.
I’m just pulling the bag of chocolate chips from the fridge when the familiar melody of Lover by Taylor Swift reaches my ears, making my head snap in Fitz’s direction. He’s walking over to me with a proud smile on his face, his hand reaching out to me when he gets close enough, and I pause for a moment, staring down at it in confusion. “Dance with me?” He asks, and I feel my heart melt into a puddle at the request.
“I can’t imagine my life without you in it anymore. And maybe it’s too soon and maybe this is all going to scare you off, but I needed you to know. I never want you to doubt my feelings for you.”
