“What do you mean?”
“I mean . . . I know what that was.” She waves a hand at my truck. “You don’t have to ask for my number, I don’t even have one.”
How does she know what that was? I don’t know what that was. My mind is still trying to process it. Maybe I should ask her. “What was that? What does it mean? Can it happen again?”
I’m in uncharted territory. I’ve had one-night stands before, but things were discussed and agreed to prior to the sex. And it’s always happened in a bed, or something close to it.
But with her, the make-out just happened, and then it was interrupted, and it was in an alley of all places. I feel like an asshole.
I have no idea what to say. I don’t know where to put my hands because I feel like I should be hugging her goodbye, but it seems like she doesn’t want me near her now. I slip my hands into the pockets of my jeans. “I want to see you again.” It’s not a lie.
Her eyes flicker from mine to her apartment building. “I’m not . . .” She sighs, and then she just says, “No, thank you.”
She says it so politely, I can’t even be upset.
I stand in front of her apartment building and watch her walk away until she goes up the stairs and into an apartment and I can’t see her anymore. And even then, I stay in the same spot because I think I’m shocked or, at the least, jarred.
I don’t know her at all, but I find her more intriguing than anyone else I’ve met in a long time. I want to ask her more questions. She never even answered the one question I asked about her life. Who the hell is she?
Why do I feel the need to find out more about her?
CHAPTER SEVEN
KENNA
Dear Scotty,
When they say it’s a small world, they aren’t kidding. Tiny. Miniscule. Overcrowded.
I’m only telling you this because I know you can’t actually read these letters, but I saw Ledger’s truck tonight and I thought I was going to cry.
Actually, I was already crying because he said his name and I realized who he was and I was kissing him and I felt so guilty, so I embarrassingly ran outside and almost had a panic attack.
But yeah. That damn truck. I can’t believe he still has it. I still remember the night you pulled up in it to take me on our first date. I laughed because it was such a bright orange that I couldn’t understand what kind of person would willingly choose that color.
Over three hundred letters I’ve written to you and I only realized tonight while skimming the letters that not one of them details the first moment we met. I wrote about our actual first date, but never mentioned the first time we laid eyes on each other.
I was working as a cashier at Dollar Days. It was the first job I applied for when I moved away from Denver. I knew no one, but I didn’t mind it. I was in a new state and a new town and no one held any preconceived notions of me. No one knew my mother.
When you came through my line, I didn’t notice you right away. I rarely looked at the customers, especially if they were guys my age. Guys my age had only disappointed me up to that point. I thought maybe I was supposed to be attracted to older men, or maybe even women, because no guy I had ever met who was my age made me feel good about myself. Between the catcalls and the sexual expectations, I had lost complete faith in the male population of my generation.
We were a small store, and everything in the store was just a dollar, so people usually came through with carts full of stuff. You came through my line with one dinner plate. I wondered what kind of person only bought one dinner plate. Surely most people expect to have friends occasionally, or at least the hope for friends. But buying one plate felt like you expected to always eat alone.
I rang up the plate and wrapped it before placing it in a sack and handing it to you.
It wasn’t until the second time you came through my line a few minutes later that I finally looked at your face. You were buying a second dinner plate. It made me feel better for you. I rang up the second plate, you handed me your dollar and some change, I handed you the sack, and that’s when you smiled.
You had me in that moment, although you probably didn’t realize it. Your smile was like warmth sliding over me. It was dangerous and it was comfortable, and I didn’t know what to do about those warring feelings, so I looked away from you.