Page 121 of And They Were Roommates

“Charlie?” Jasper says.

“ROSES ARE RED.”

He jolts back, gripping his chest. “Y-yes, they are.”

Too loud. I hide my face behind the paper. Mortifying. “Can I try that again?”

“Sure,” he mumbles.

“Roses are red. Violets are blue. I’m disappointed that I met you.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“For violets have become the tint of your eyes and your favorite food, reminding me of who fate keeps bumping me into. Nowthe lies I’ve whispered to myself are drowned out by the truth”—I take an unsteady breath—“I think I’m falling in love with you.”

The waves roll. The heat lamp crackles beside us.

I squeeze my eyes shut. Cringe. So cringe.

Unspoken Guideline 19: Mom was wrong. There are no beautiful memories at Valentine. Only mortifying, terrible, I-want-to-die memories.

Something knocks against me. Jasper, sitting on the bench again, leaning against my shoulder. He buries his face in the crook of my neck. “One more time.”

“Huh?”

“One more time. Recite it again.”

“What? No way—” I try to shrink away. Of course he’s trying to embarrass me. The actualgoodpoet. “Jasper—?”

“Charlie.” I’ve never heard his voice this soft before, yet there’s something more unrestrained that simmers beneath it, too, making my chest burst in ways I never knew existed. “Just the last bit at least.”

“I—” I clench the letter tighter. “Fine. I said, I think I’m falling in love with you.”

Jasper pulls away, dimple popped. The sunlight reflected in his blue eyes shimmers as strikingly as the frozen lake. “Thank you. That was a brilliant poem.”

Unspoken Guideline 19 (Revised): Maybe Mom was right.

“It’s a bit mean,” I mumble, readjusting my glasses to distract myself from the butterflies detonating inside me. “And not really a poem. Just a letter.”

“That’s what makes it brilliant. It’s an authentic work by you. About time.”

“Hey, it was impossible to write other people’s love letters authentically. I didn’t know any of them, unlike you.” I cross my arms.

Jasper’s lip quirks up. “Of course. My apologies.”

“This is still scary, though.”

“What is?”

“Reciting this letter. I thought that once I did, I’d stop being scared. And I have. Sort of. Because I trust you. With everything. But now it feels different. It feels”—I waver—“good, almost? Exciting? Does this make sense?”

Jasper pulls me closer by the wrist and kisses me.

Instantly, I sink into him, letting my arms wrap over his shoulders, and I feel him smile against me as his hand finds my knee, gently trailing higher up my thigh. There’s a hint of bitterness on his lips, probably from the black coffee he drank this morning, and it mixes with the floral notes of his shampoo and fragrance. My head floods with how much I’ve wanted this again from only one bed away, and for so long.

Finally, I let him kiss me first.

His lips drift across my cheek until he’s by my ear, and a chill races through my spine. “Love is nevernotscary. It’s a matter of whether you’re enjoying that fear.”

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