Sincerely, Carter(72)

“Great.” He held out a white mug. “Do you like orange blend?”

“Never had it.” I took it from his hands and sipped it slow; it was amazing. “What are you doing here?”

“Tracking you down to see why you stood me up,” he said, smiling. “We had a date yesterday. Did you forget?”

“What?” I raised my eyebrow, confused.

“You don’t recall me saying that I’d pick you up from your flat at six for a night out?”

I remembered. I just didn’t think he was serious, so I’d gotten into bed and gone to sleep early.

“I’m so sorry, Sean. I thought you were just joking.”

He smiled and sat down, moving his chair close to mine. “Do you also think I’m ‘just joking’ when I call you every night and we talk on the phone for hours at a time? Or when I only ask you to stay behind after study sessions and we hang out all night at my place?”

I blinked, confused again.

“Arizona…” He leaned forward and ran his fingers through my hair. “I’m trying to go out with you… How else can I make that any clearer?”

I blushed, now feeling like a complete ditz. I’d thought nothing of our nightly phone conversations, weekend bike rides through town, or private study sessions.

“I just thought you were being a nice guy…” I said.

“I am a nice guy.” His fingers were still in my hair. “Outside of the bedroom…”

My eyes widened and he laughed—leaning even closer.

“I don’t know what else I can do to make you see that I’m interested,” he said softly. “Tell me what it takes…”

I swallowed, looking him over. This was the second time in my life I’d failed to realize how sexy and attractive a guy was. With sun-kissed blond hair, deep green eyes, and a mouth that was too tempting not to try, he was definitely sexy as hell.

“Are you going to tell me?” he asked.

I hesitated. “What do you mean by go out?”

“I mean you’ll actually hang out with me with the impression that I’m more than a nice guy.” He looked into my eyes. “A guy who actually likes you…It also means you’ll let me take you out to the city tomorrow.”

“What if I’m busy tomorrow?”

“If implies that you’re not, so I’ll force you.”

“How romantic…” I laughed. “Nonetheless, yes. I’ll go out with you.”

“Good…”he said, standing up and stepping back. “I’ll pick you up at seven tomorrow.”

“Wait,” I called out. “You were kidding about that bedroom comment, weren’t you?”

He looked over his shoulder and smirked. “I wasn’t…”

Blushing, I watched him walk away and sat in the café a little longer, wondering if our day in Paris tomorrow would come with the cliché “falling in love atop the Eiffel Tower” moment. I knew one thing for sure though, I was starting a new compatibility spreadsheet for us; I needed to check off the “intensity of the kisses” category with him ASAP.

When I finally arrived back home, I noticed there was a new letter from Carter on my table.

I stared at it for a while, running my finger along the flap—along the words “URGENT: Please Open Me, Ari,” but I couldn’t bring myself to open it.

Just not right now…





Track 28. How You Get the Girl (4:32)



“Mr. James,” the postal employee sighed. “For the umpteenth time, we can’t track letters, only packages. Would you like me to track your last package to France, maybe?”

“Bullshit. There has to be some way that you can track a goddamn letter…”

He rolled his eyes and motioned for me to step aside. “Next in line, please!”

Annoyed, I put my old receipt into my pocket and left the office. It’d been weeks since I sent Ari my last letter, and I’d sent it in a bright blue envelope with the words “URGENT: Please Open Me, Ari” across the back flap to make sure she’d have no choice but to read it. Yet, she hadn’t sent one word back about it, and the only correspondence on her end had been generic holiday cards. With Valentine’s Day a month and a half away, I wondered if she’d already made plans to send me another one of those.

As usual, when I got home, I checked the mail, not expecting anything from her inside of it. This time—to my surprise, there was. It was dated for two weeks ago, and her curly handwriting was all over the back flap.

I took it inside the house with me and immediately ripped it open:

Dear Carter,

I’m so sorry that it’s taken me so long to write you an actual, personal letter back. Things have become quite hectic now—in both good and bad ways.