Page 99 of Drawn Together
His smile is slow and thick, but it’s there, and I never want it to leave.
“I guess I do remember that.”
“Thought so.”
He sets down both our drinks on a table, with no coaster, and wraps an arm around mine, bringing me around the small group of people to the tiny deck outside their sliding glass door.
As soon as we’re outside, the chill settles deep into my bones, wrapping its way around my body and tugging me close. I’m starting to like the cold. It’s become less of a stranger on the street and more like an old friend coming to say hello.
Fletcher slides the glass door closed with one hand then joins me to look out at the city skyline in the distance, lights dancing around us. The music from inside follows us, just a tad more dull.
I take a few steps closer, and just as I’m about to raise my arms around him to dance, Fletcher whips one hand out from his back and there’s a box between us. It’s horribly wrapped—pieces of tape sticking up like cowlicks—and there’s patches of extra polka-dot pink wrapping paper taped sporadically. It’s topped off with a shiny white bow half holding on at the top.
It is the most lovely thing I have ever seen.
“It’s, uh…” Fletcher tugs at the back of his neck. “I’m not very good at wrapping.”
“It’s perfect.” I smile.
“You don’t even know what it is.”
“I know it’s perfect.”
Because it’s from him. And he wrapped it. And maybe that does say a lot about my expectations of people, that imagining Fletcher wrapping this in his living room is the cutest thing ever, but I don’t care. I love it already.
I take the box from him and hold it tight to my chest. “Thank you so, so much, Fletcher.”
“Are you even going to open it?”
“I might not.”
He smirks and brushes a curl behind my ear. “Would you open it for me?”
“Well, I suppose now I have to.”
We sit down at the small table and chairs he and Stephan have set to the side. He tugs my chair closer to him so our knees graze one another, and all the heat in my body rushes to the small sliver of his touch.
I raise the box to my ear and shake, and a low hollow sound follows. “Hmm, is it a picture frame?”
“You’d find out if you opened it.”
My eyes squint. “So, that’s a yes.”
He gives me a deadpan look with the tiniest quirk of his lips.
“Alright, alright." I pull at the wrapping paper. “You should know you could probably just give me a used t-shirt and I would love—”
Words lodge themselves in my throat at the smallest glimpse of a pale pink spine. The words are faded—the golden font almost fully wiped away—but I pick up just enough to know exactly what I have in my hands.
Pip’s Moonlit Wish.
I peel back the rest of the paper, and sure enough, there she is, in her pink and glittery glory. My favorite little hedgehog in a tutu smiles up at me like an old friend waving hello. I lift the cover and go to the copyright to see the date at the bottom, confirming this is exactly what I thought it was.
A first edition copy of the book I fell headfirst in love with. The first book that made me wonder if I could somehow be an illustrator, if I could chase my dreams enough to draw a hedgehog on a book for some other little girl out there to pick up and take with her. Make her own dream out of it.
Fletcher clears his throat. “Do you like it?” Those hazel eyes of his stare down at me, like he’s actually worried about me not enjoying this. Not enjoying him.
“Fletcher. This is…” I shake my head. “I don’t have the words.”
