Page 49 of Drawn Together
“Romanticize. Give it a shot Mr. Mumpish.”
He stares at me in horror.
“It was my word of the day yesterday.”
“That’s the most vile thing I have ever heard, and I don’t even know what it means.”
“I’m docking points the longer you put this off.”
“Alright…uh…” He glances around. “There’s a squirrel choking on a nut over there. Wait, no he threw it up. The ground is cold, despite the blanket. My backpack is really, uh, backpack-y.”
“Wow. Laying it on thick, aren’t you.”
“Let’s agree to leave the romanticizing to you and finding the horror in things for me.”
“Agreed.”
I move to the right of the blanket and squat down, very thankful I didn’t go with the sweater dress option I had laid out. I lean back on both hands, legs stretched out. When Fletcher seems to be satisfied with my placement, he sits down, too.
“This is so nice.” I breathe in the crisp air.
It’s clean and musky, I think from the damp leaves—earthy, crisp, and a little sweet. Then, there’s my delicious coffee, and Fletcher’s monstrosity in a cup. It all mingles together in a scent I’d like to push into a candle and light on my dining table next to some fresh cut purple and orange mums.
He shrugs and pulls his sleeves down, and my eyes lock on his henley—deep forest green. “Ryan’s favorite color.” I reach over to tug on the wrist, and the way he is staring at my fingers, I feel like I shouldn’t have done that, so I sit on my hands instead.
“Lenny told you?”
“She did. It all makes sense now, him being her brother and all.”
“She took it pretty hard. I hate that you only know this version of her.”
“I think Lennon is one of those girls I would like every version of.”
Fletcher grins at that. There’s that dimple again; I want to stick my pinky in it.
“She’s a great person. Just not the same person.”
“I probably wouldn’t be either if I went through what she did.”
“You should talk to her about it.”
I jerk back and take my hands out, picking at the cracks of my cream polish. “Oh, right. Sorry, you probably don’t want to—”
“No, Flora.” His hand reaches out and wraps around my wrist. Heat gatherers low in my belly. “I didn’t mean that I didn’t want to talk about it with you. I just meant…you’re easy to talk to. And, I think that would be good for Lenny. To talk to you.”
“I am?”
“Very much.”
“Oh.”
His thumb is caressing the pulse point on my wrist, and my stomach is clenching. “Surely you get that often? I don’t like talking to anyone, but with you it’s so easy.”
I’m not given the chance to really answer, as Fletcher sets his cup off the blanket and pulls his corner tight to cover the grass enough where we don’t have to be forced to sit with our legs touching, then grabs his copy.
“So, thoughts?”
“Can I be honest?”
