No man has ever written me a love letter before—not unless you count the time in seventh grade when Tim Bachman passed me a note in class describing how he wanted to feel my boobs. Did I want him touching me under my sweater after the soccer game? Yes or No. (Firm no on that one, by the way).
Unfolding a piece of cream stationary paper that looks like it’s been read and refolded a few dozen times, my breath catches in my throat, because there in black ink and masculine script is a handwritten letter.
I bend my head and read.
Dear Tabitha,
I’ve never written a woman a letter before—not unless you count the time in eighth grade when I asked Melissa Spellman if she’d make out with me under the bleachers after the football game. She said no, by the way, so I guess we can’t count that. So please, bear with me…
I don’t know where to start, except to say that you’re all I can think about, from the minute my eyes open in the morning—until I climb into bed at night. I would say I think about you when I close my eyes to sleep, but the truth is, I lie awake most nights staring up at the ceiling, trying to picture your face and remember the sound of your voice. Is that weird?
But it is, holy shit, it is.
Is this the worst love letter you’ve ever received? Because that’s what this is, so sorry about the swearing. It was hard for me to articulate how I feel—I don’t have a way with words the way you obviously do. Numbers, yes. Words, no. I’m trying not to fuck this up. Is it working?
If you’ll let me, I’ll stand by and support you, whether you choose management for your parents’ company or you want to write. I won’t say another word about it.
I miss you. Let’s start over.
I continue staring down at the letter, scanning it at least a dozen times, reading and rereading each word, over and over, devouring it, memorizing every line. Each and every beautiful, ineloquent word. Not because they’re the most poetic words I’ve ever read, but because he wrote them.
He’s the most fascinating man I’ve ever met.
He writes me sort-of love letters and works for a stock brokerage firm.
He’s funny and smart and ridiculously good looking. He thinks I’m beautiful, smart, clever, and funny.
Collin believes in my dream.
Collin believes in… me.
And that’s more than enough.
I bite down on my lower lip to stop the stupid grin spreading there, and raise my head, our gazes colliding. Tears moisten the corners of my eyes and I wipe them away, embarrassed.
“I’m sorry,” I say, folding up the sheet of paper, lovingly tucking it into my laptop bag where it’s safe and sound. Standing, I push back my chair and inch closer to where he stands regarding me.
I take a deep breath. “I overreacted—as usual—and I’m sorry. I might write romance novels, but the truth is, in reality… I’m complete shit at relationships.”
His hand lovingly brushes some wispy stray tendrils of hair away from my jawline. “So am I.”
“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.” I tilt my head into his palm, letting him cradle my cheek. “You’ve done nothing but try to win me over while I ran scared. For what? To push you away because I was lying to my entire family? This letter just proves what a fool I’ve been. Collin, this letter… it was…”
“Don’t say sweet.” He frames my face and plants a kiss on my nose before his hands glide down my ribcage to grip my hips, tugging me in, pulling our bodies flush. Mine gives a shuddering sigh.
It missed him, melts into him like a pile of magic sand. Like it belongs there.
“Fine, I won’t.” I lay my head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat, and wrap my arms around his waist with a whisper. “But it was. It was sweet and beautiful, Collin. The most beautiful thing anyone’s ever written me.”
“You’re beautiful.” His warm breath flirts with the shell of my ear. “I can’t wait to get you home. I’ll let you show me your gratitude then.”
Oh, I just bet he does.
I wince. “Hey, Collin?”
“Yeah?”
“People are starting to stare.”
“So? Let them.”
So we do.
Taking Chances, a Novel by TE Thomas
Acknowledgements [re-edited]
T his book means a lot to me, not only because it’s my second novel but because along the journey, I think I might have found myself. But I didn’t do it alone. I had the support of my family, my parents, my friends, and someone else.
To Collin: who discovered my writing all these months ago, before anyone else, and who believed in me when I didn’t want to tell a soul about it. The past six months with you have been…. indescribable.
You love my writing, you love my wacky sense of humor, you love my pink “thinking” baseball cap. But most of all, I’m pretty sure you loved me at first sight. I can see it in your eyes when you look at me, and hear it in your voice when you whisper my name in the dark. You’re my best friend.
I love you, too.
“Everyone raise your glasses in a toast,” I announce around the high-top bar table, hoisting my wine glass in the air and encouraging Tabitha’s friends to do the same. Clearing my throat, I begin. “We’ve gathered tonight to celebrate Tabitha, who’s publishing her second romance novel.” I put a hand to my mouth, pretending to whisper this next part. “Even though she kept it a secret from us in the beginning. Greyson, Samantha, Bridget—thank you for coming all this way to celebrate our friend! To Tabitha: we are so proud!”
“So proud!” Greyson echoes. “Seriously, Tab, Cal and I are so excited for you. Even though you used my brother as your muse for book two, which I cannot get past. Especially the chapter where you finally ‘do it.’ I will never be able to un-read that scene, and for that I will forever be ungrateful.”
My best friend Tabitha, an author, laughs, her blue eyes sparkling with mischief. “Yeah, but the best ideas imitate real life.”
I laugh, lowering my glass. “But do we have to know about it? Honestly. The visuals you gave us we could have lived without.” Even though Collin is a complete hottie, and I don’t mind for one second picturing him in the sack. Of course, I can’t say that out loud.
I’m not that tacky.
Tabitha has the decency to blush. “I only used Collin to form the male character! I didn’t use our relationship to plot the book!”