Page 40 of More Than Pen Pals

Her eyes snap back to mine. “There is that. But we had two good years together.” Her eyes glisten with unshed tears.

I wish I hadn’t asked about Glenn, because speaking about him only reminded her of what she lost. And me talking badly about him is backfiring on me. I need to stop.

“Leslie, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you.” I sigh. “I don’t like to see you hurting.”

twenty-one

Idon’t deserve for Ash to be as kind to me as he is tonight. Last night I would’ve let him kiss me—and possibly more—which wouldn’t have been fair to him at all.

Aunt Star was right. I need time to get over Glenn. For the last two weeks, I was so busy with the move and the new job it wasn’t difficult to push thoughts of him and the breakup aside. But if I want to get past it and potentially start a new relationship, I can’t keep ignoring what happened.

Unfortunately, I’m certain that means not seeing Ash unless we can’t avoid it at work. I want him to hold and comfort me, which is the absolute worst thing we should do under the circumstances. He can’t help me get over Glenn.

Our food arrives, and I don’t want to discuss Glenn any longer, but I’m having trouble figuring out what to talk about. Ash senses my mood and takes control of the conversation, starting with Diego Sanchez.

I’m more excited about Diego moving to Chicago than Ash is, and he’s a diehard Cubs fan. I wonder what’s up with that but don’t ask. I also don’t tell him how at my lunch with Diego, I was pleasantly surprised that while he lightly flirted with me, he was respectful of me both as a woman and a colleague. Based on his interactions with the hotel staff, I think he would flirt with any female in his vicinity, and with his engaging personality, I doubt many women would be offended by it. However, I could see Ash not being as lenient.

When that conversation peters out, we talk about our younger sisters. Ash’s face lights up when he talks about Tonya and Sonya.

“Do you see them often?” I ask.

“Almost every day.” He flushes at his admission, and he focuses on his plate.

“Don’t be embarrassed. I love that you enjoy spending time with your sisters. So do you go up to Evanston most days, or do they come down here?”

He meets my eyes again. “I still live up there. I took over the pool house when I moved back from law school, and I haven’t left.” He’s trying to sound like it’s no big deal he still essentially lives with his parents, but I can tell he was reluctant to admit it.

I say, “If you think I’ll think less of you because of that, you’re wrong. I don’t know all the reasons you choose to keep living there, but unless you’ve changed a lot since I last knew you, I know you think things through before making decisions. I don’t believe for a minute you still live there because you lack the ability or maturity to survive out in the world on your own. And considering your occupation, I’m pretty sure you don’t lack the financial resources, either.” I point my fork at him. “I’m happy you made the decision that’s best for you, regardless of what other people might think.Thatshows maturity.”

“Leslie,” he says in a strained voice, “how are we going to do this? When you say things like that, I want to be with you even more. I want to spend all my time with you and find out everything you’ve done over the past twelve years and hear about all your hopes and dreams.” He grits his teeth. “But we can’t. I completely understand why and agree with your reasoning, but it feels impossible.”

My heart goes out to him. I want to do the same, and I’m not sure how to keep from it. I don’t think even talking on the phone would be a good plan. It would be too easy for the conversation to veer into intimate territory or invitations to spend time together.

Then I get an idea—maybe one of the best ideas of my life. “What if we write letters to each other?”

His eyes light up. “Like being pen pals again?”

“Yes. Only this time, there’ll be no confusion about who the other person is. We’re going into it eyes wide open. But we need some ground rules.”

He nods, and a smile slowly spreads across his face. “I like this suggestion. What rules do you propose?”

Why do I feel like he’s drawing up a contract in his mind?

“First,” I say, “we take turns. No sending a letter every day. We have to wait until we get a letter and then respond to it.”

“I concur,” my favorite lawyer states. “And we get to ask one question in each letter.”

“Only one?” I quirk an eyebrow.

“Yes,” he says with mock gravity. “So you’d better make it a good one.”

“And must the responding letter solely consist of the answer to that question, or are we allowed to veer off topic, counselor?”

“Each letter can contain two topics.” He holds up one finger. “The answer to the question and,” he adds another finger, “another topic of the writer’s choice. We can also comment on what the other person said in their letter.”

“Should I be writing all this down?” I tease.

Ash taps his forehead. “It’s all up here. I can type it up when I get home if you can’t remember it all. But of course, then I’ll have to mail it to you.”

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