Page 50 of The Bright Side of Brooding
“You want to date me?”
I exhaled on a soft laugh. “Am I all that cryptic?”
She bit her bottom lip, almost like she wanted that to subdue her grin. But nothing could contain it, still. “Actually, you are.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“What, in my last letter, could be construed as anything other than that I want to date you—often and repeatedly?”
She huffed, but the stubborn set of her jaw kept her from smiling again. “Maybe not this most recent one. But the one before that? The one that was the equivalent of a business-like handshake?”
Ah. Yeah. “That came on the heels of you seeming very upset by the prospect of my having purchased your plane ticket. I was worried you found that abhorrent, and the assumption wasn’t far off.”
She sighed, and even though it was a kind of frustrated, long-suffering sigh, my stupid gut tightened at the sound. I wanted her sighs, yes. All of them.
“It wasn’t thatyouhad particularly. Or that wasn’t all of it. I just…” She trailed off, eyes traveling across the open expanse of grass to her right. “I hate feeling indebted to anyone, and I didn’t want to go into this weekend feeling I owed you or anyone else. I just wanted to come and help with the competition and cheer everyone on.”
Interesting. This made perfect sense in the context of almost every one of our interactions. Anytime I did something—anything—for her, she reciprocated. Usually with food.
“I’m sorry we weren’t clear from the very start.”
And I’m sorry for whatever happened to make you hate that feeling. I didn’t say it, but something about her tone, and the interactions we’d had in the past, told me whatever this was had roots deep in her. It wasn’t just disliking debt in the way most people did.
“Thanks. And I’m sorry I freaked out about it.” She stopped just before we reached the edge of the park. “I’m glad I came. I’m glad Rob asked me. And I’m glad you want to date me.”
