“You’ve always been so damn cocky, ever since we first started writing to each other. I kind of hoped that you would turn out to be an ugly troll, but … ugh. You must have felt so damn smug when you met me and all I wanted to do was jump your bones.”
His smile fades. “If I was cocky, it was only because I wanted to impress you. You were right though, you know.”
“About what?”
“Fifth grade,” he says. “I wasn’t hot. I was just skinny.”
The elevator door opens on my floor. I begin to step out, but he reaches his hand out, his fingers grazing my forearm. I stop and turn toward him, his touch lingering on my skin. His brow is furrowed, his lips parted, like he’s debating whether to say what’s on his mind.
“Luca?”
“You didn’t have a panic attack,” he says.
It takes me a second to remember my fear of this elevator. I look at the walls, and then out at the hallway before I return my gaze to him. “You’re right,” I say with a nod. “I guess I felt safe.”
His hand slides further down my arm, until he reaches my hand, and he intertwines his fingers with mine. I give his hand a small squeeze before I let go.
The elevator door begins to slide shut and I back out so it doesn’t hit me. We make eye contact as the door closes, both of us frozen in place. I wonder if he’s as torn as I am about letting the door close between us. I think about reaching my hand out to stop it, but I’m not sure what I would say if I did. I let the door close, and so does he. I stand in the hallway for a minute, still staring at the door, still feeling his fingers on mine, and hearing the echo of what he said before the door opened. I can hear the rumble of the pulley as the elevator brings Luca up to his own floor.
I turn away from the elevator, and as I walk back to my apartment, I think about that first year of letters. I wonder if he reread them recently like I did, or if the words I once forgot I had said were powerful enough to stick with him all this time, waiting for an opportunity to be spoken again.
ChapterThirty-Five
THE PEN PAL ZONE
Maybe I’m crazy, but I want him to write to me again. I’m not really sure how to bring it up. It might be a little weird to go from sleeping with someone, to not talking at all, to telling him that I want to go back to being pen pals. It feels a little like friend-zoning, but worse. I wonder if pen-pal-zoning is a thing.
Then again, I don’t think it would be called the friendzone if I already dated him. Maybe the ex-zone would be more accurate. Some people stay friends after they break up. Some never talk again. I usually fall into the latter group, but that’s not how I want things to end with me and Luca.
I reach over and pet the kittens, who are sitting next to me and grooming each other. Maybe instead of asking him if we can go back to writing letters, I can just make the first move and write to him. After all, I rejected the last letter that he gave me. He’s probably afraid to make the next move. He doesn’t know that I’ve forgiven him.
This last thought gives me pause. Have I forgiven him? I haven’t really given it much thought. I’m not angry anymore. I find myself missing him more with every day that passes by. I just need to find a way to tell him.
* * *
I wait until Bruno starts crying before I head upstairs to get him. I’m not avoiding Luca, but I don’t want to run into him just yet. I’m afraid he’ll convince me to leave Bruno alone, or worse, take his key back so that I don’t have a choice.
The note I left on his refrigerator before is gone. I wonder if he tossed it or if he added it to his box. I think about snooping around his apartment to see if I can find where he keeps it, but I decide against it. I brought a new note with me. I leave it on his refrigerator with the same magnet.
Dear Luca,
I took something from your apartment. Can you guess what it is?
—N
I take Bruno for a walk, and then spend the afternoon researching deafness in dogs. I try to prove that he can hear, but he doesn’t react to any of the noises I make. I think it’s time to accept that this puppy really can’t hear anything. I sit down and watch several videos on training a deaf dog using hand signals, and then I attempt some of them with Bruno. It’s going to take a lot of work, but I think I can do it. I’m fully committed to this by the time Luca knocks on my door.
“What did you take from my apartment?”
He doesn’t waste time on pleasantries; he gets straight to the point. Even so, I think of the last time we were this close together, how his hand grazed mine, sending goosebumps over my skin that I can feel even now.
“You’re not supposed to answer a letter verbally,” I scold him.
“Should I have written that question down and handed it to you without speaking?”
I shrug. “Probably.” I step aside and let him into the apartment.
“Seriously, though,” he says, this time smirking a little. “What did you take?” He looks into the living room where Bruno is playing with the kittens. “Bruno?”
