I don’t know where to start, except to say that you’re all I can think about, from the minute my eyes open in the morning—until I climb into bed at night. I would say I think about you when I close my eyes to sleep, but the truth is, I lie awake most nights staring up at the ceiling, trying to picture your face and remember the sound of your voice. Is that weird?
The other day When we argued and you walked out that door, it went against every one of my instincts not to chase you down. I panicked. I thought you were walking out of my life before our relationship had a real chance, and it scared the shit out of me. I can’t say I’m sorry for what I said because you shouldn’t have to hide how incredible. You know how I feel about you; I haven’t played any head games and it kills me that people don’t fucking know you’ve created something incredible. On your own, standing on your talent. Maybe to you it doesn’t feel big. Maybe to you it doesn’t feel remarkable.
But it is, holy shit, it is.
Is this the worst love letter you’ve ever received? Because that’s what this is, so sorry about the swearing. It was hard for me to articulate how I feel—I don’t have a way with words the way you obviously do. Numbers, yes. Words, no. I’m trying not to fuck this up. Is it working?
If you’ll let me, I’ll stand by and support you, whether you choose management for your parents’ company or you want to write. I won’t say another word about it.
I miss you. Let’s start over.
Sincerely Love, Collin
I continue staring down at the letter, scanning it at least a dozen times, reading and rereading each word, over and over, devouring it, memorizing every line. Each and every beautiful, ineloquent word. Not because they’re the most poetic words I’ve ever read, but because he wrote them.
He’s the most fascinating man I’ve ever met.
He writes me sort-of love letters and works for a stock brokerage firm.
He’s funny and smart and ridiculously good looking. He thinks I’m beautiful, smart, clever, and funny.
Collin believes in my dream.
Collin believes in… me.
And that’s more than enough.
I bite down on my lower lip to stop the stupid grin spreading there, and raise my head, our gazes colliding. Tears moisten the corners of my eyes and I wipe them away, embarrassed.
“I’m sorry,” I say, folding up the sheet of paper, lovingly tucking it into my laptop bag where it’s safe and sound. Standing, I push back my chair and inch closer to where he stands regarding me.
I take a deep breath. “I overreacted—as usual—and I’m sorry. I might write romance novels, but the truth is, in reality… I’m complete shit at relationships.”
His hand lovingly brushes some wispy stray tendrils of hair away from my jawline. “So am I.”
“You’re just saying that to make me feel better.” I tilt my head into his palm, letting him cradle my cheek. “You’ve done nothing but try to win me over while I ran scared. For what? To push you away because I was lying to my entire family? This letter just proves what a fool I’ve been. Collin, this letter… it was…”
“Don’t say sweet.” He frames my face and plants a kiss on my nose before his hands glide down my ribcage to grip my hips, tugging me in, pulling our bodies flush. Mine gives a shuddering sigh.
It missed him, melts into him like a pile of magic sand. Like it belongs there.
“Fine, I won’t.” I lay my head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat, and wrap my arms around his waist with a whisper. “But it was. It was sweet and beautiful, Collin. The most beautiful thing anyone’s ever written me.”
“You’re beautiful.” His warm breath flirts with the shell of my ear. “I can’t wait to get you home. I’ll let you show me your gratitude then.”
Oh, I just bet he does.
I wince. “Hey, Collin?”
“Yeah?”
“People are starting to stare.”
“So? Let them.”
So we do.
Taking Chances, a Novel by TE Thomas
Acknowledgements [re-edited]
This book means a lot to me, not only because it’s my second novel but because along the journey, I think I might have found myself. But I didn’t do it alone. I had the support of my family, my parents, my friends, and someone else.
To Collin: who discovered my writing all these months ago, before anyone else, and who believed in me when I didn’t want to tell a soul about it. The past six months with you have been…. indescribable.
You love my writing, you love my wacky sense of humor, you love my pink “thinking” baseball cap. But most of all, I’m pretty sure you loved me at first sight. I can see it in your eyes when you look at me, and hear it in your voice when you whisper my name in the dark. You’re my best friend.
I love you, too.
“Everyone raise your glasses in a toast,” I announce around the high-top bar table, hoisting my wine glass in the air and encouraging Tabitha’s friends to do the same. Clearing my throat, I begin. “We’ve gathered tonight to celebrate Tabitha, who’s publishing her second romance novel.” I put a hand to my mouth, pretending to whisper this next part. “Even though she kept it a secret from us in the beginning. Greyson, Samantha, Bridget—thank you for coming all this way to celebrate our friend! To Tabitha: we are so proud!”
“So proud!” Greyson echoes. “Seriously, Tab, Cal and I are so excited for you. Even though you used my brother as your muse for book two, which I cannot get past. Especially the chapter where you finally ‘do it.’ I will never be able to un-read that scene, and for that I will forever be ungrateful.”
My best friend Tabitha, an author, laughs, her blue eyes sparkling with mischief. “Yeah, but the best ideas imitate real life.”
I laugh, lowering my glass. “But do we have to know about it? Honestly. The visuals you gave us we could have lived without.” Even though Collin is a complete hottie, and I don’t mind for one second picturing him in the sack. Of course, I can’t say that out loud.
I’m not that tacky.
Tabitha has the decency to blush. “I only used Collin to form the male character! I didn’t use our relationship to plot the book!”
She can’t even look us in the eye when she says it, the liar.
We all stare, our friend Samantha’s expression clearly asking, Who are you trying to kid right now?
“You expect people to believe that? The whole second book is about two people who meet at a store; that’s you. Then they bump into each other at a party. You. Then he finds out her secret. Also you. You, you, and you. Your story. Just admit it so we can finish toasting your success.”
A dreamy smile crosses Tabitha’s face. “Fine. I admit it. I was falling in love with him, so yes—I might not have done it on purpose, but it is our story.”
“Finally. Now, as we were saying: here’s to Tabitha, who we all knew would do something spectacular. Thank for proving us right. We love you and are so proud. Cheers!”
“Cheers to Tabby!”
“Hey,” Bridget cuts in. “When do we get to see the famous love letter Collin wrote?”
Tabitha throws her head back good-naturedly, and face palms herself. “Oh crap. I forgot I put that in my book.” She laughs the kind of laugh that makes a guy like Collin fall in love with you and write you love letters. “Sorry, ladies. The contents of said letter are private.”
“Is it dirty?” Greyson wrinkles her nose. “Please say no.”
“No! It’s sweet. Ugh, the sweetest. Maybe someday I’ll let you read it, but for now I’m enjoying keeping it to myself.”
“Damn you and your secrets!” I complain. “I showed you the poem Kyle Hammond wrote me last year.”
Half the table groans out loud, and Bridget smirks. “Are you kidding me right now? First of all, Kyle Hammond is a stalker that works in your office. Secondly, he plagiarized that poem off the internet. Third, it wasn’t a love poem, it was a poem about a man’s love affair with a married woman.”
I scoff indignantly. “It’s the thought that counts.”
“He’s just so adorable I can hardly stand it.”
“Who, Kyle?”
“Collin,” my best friend sighs in a daydream, resting her elbows on the bar table.
“Collin? Adorable?” Greyson laughs. “Okay, yeah—my brother is good looking. But I also remember him and his friends back in high school doing some pretty stupid crap, like toilet papering their friends’ houses and leaving dead animals on the front porch that they found on the side of the road. Gross.”
“What!” Samantha sputters, pausing with a wine glass halfway to her lips. “Wait. What?”
Greyson nods with authority. “Yup, road kill. He and his football buddies would use it as their calling card when they’d go TP. Anything they found on the side of the road, they’d take and put on someone’s porch.”
“That’s totally disgusting,” Bridget adds, lifting her wine glass and pointing it in Tabitha’s direction. “You kiss that mouth.”
Greyson continues. “Skunks, opossums, squirrels, basically anything dead on the side of the road. Like, who does that?”