Page 19 of Wish You Would

“I’m not sure I’m ready for that. I’m sure it’s wildly entertaining.”

She giggles. “I try whenever I can to exceed expectations.”

I laugh too. There’s a beat of silence between us before Briar speaks again. “I’m scared of people not liking me. Is that the dumbest thing you’ve ever heard? I’m impulsive, and emotional. I think it can be a lot for some people.”

I look back at the ceiling because looking at Briar right now feels like too much and too little all at the same time. “No, it’s not the dumbest thing. Not even close.”

God, the urge to wrap her up in my arms and pull her into my chest is almost more than I can handle. To show her thatIlike her. To make her understand that anyone lucky enough to spend five minutes with her would like her.

“Briar?”

“Yeah?”

“You’re also funny. And smart. And beautiful.” I can feel her smiling next to me, but I force myself to keep my eyes on the ceiling.

“According to Justin, I’m hard to handle,” she says. “He always said I was too much.”

“Fuck him, Briar. The guy is an insecure asshole. I want you to forget everything he ever said to you. You’re perfect the way you are.”

I feel the weight of the bed shift when she rolls to her back, her position mirroring mine. “What’s yours, Holden? Do you have a greatest fear?”

I stare at a shaft of light that stretches across the ceiling, a thunderbolt against the shadowed stucco.

“I’m afraid of flying,” I tell her. “I don’t admit that to too many people. A 28-year-old man who’s afraid to get into an airplane? It’s embarrassing as hell.”

I hold my breath in anticipation of her reaction. But instead of laughing or cracking a joke, she reaches her hand over the space between us, then gives my forearm a gentle squeeze. “That’s a legitimate fear. I know there are plenty of people who feel the same way. Can I ask you if it’s because something happened?”

I should have known she would ask questions. I’m already learning that Briar is one of the most inquisitive people I’ve ever met. I honestly can’t remember the last time I told the story. Even in my family we never talked about it much, but I can still remember the way my mom bawled for weeks. I’ve sometimes wondered—if wedidtalk about it, would I still struggle so much with this fear?

Briar has left her hand on my arm, and she gives it another soft squeeze encouraging me on.

“My grandparents died in a plane crash when I was in grade 6. They were on vacation, visiting the Grand Canyon. They booked a plane tour. It was supposed to be a 45-minute flight. But something went wrong. They crashed into the canyon.”

“I’m so sorry, Holden. That is awful.”

“Don’t be sorry, it’s not your fault. Besides, it was a long time ago.”

“I know,” she says. “I’m still sorry.”

“Thanks.”

I feel her small hand cover mine in the center of the bed that we share, and we lie here together, not speaking, staring at the thunderbolt on the ceiling overhead.

“I had a good night tonight, Bee,” I say, feeling a little vulnerable, heart racing. I hope she did too.

But the room is silent. I chance a glance at Briar and find her eyes closed, her lips parted slightly, chest rising and falling as she sleeps.

She’s beautiful.

Then I close my eyes and wait for my breathing to return to its normal rhythm, and eventually I fall asleep too.

My hand in hers.

It’s still there seven hours later when I rise with the sun.

My cell phonerings on my desk, pulling my focus away from my computer. The screen flashes with my mom’s number, which immediately seems strange. She doesn’t often call me at work.

I could use the distraction. I’ve been staring at my monitor most of the day, thinking about how much I liked having Briar in my bed. Yes, dammit, I wanted to kiss her. Hell, I wanted to do a lot more than that. She was still asleep when I slipped out of the house this morning. Careful not to wake her, I had a shower in my ensuite, got dressed, and made myself a cup of coffee. Before I left the house, I took a mug out of the cupboard and dropped a peppermint tea bag in it, leaving it on the counter for her.

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