And They Were Roommates(85)

But this may be the last opportunity Jasper will ever give me.

Placing my pencil to the paper, I inhale, exhale, and write. For the first time, I try to release every ounce of honesty Jasper taught me, every emotion Mr. Stern claimed would bring my work to the next level. I don’t second-guess a word despite my brain warning me that I’m too vulnerable, too weak, too illogical. I write everything about romance that I hate. Or, maybe, used to hate.

The church bell towers chime in unison.

I look up. Already?

“Was that the last lunchtime bell?” I ask him.

“Guess we should go,” Jasper says, casually filing his red ribbon bookmark into his journal as if what he said is no big deal. But a heavy disappointment weighs down his words. He expected me to do something. And he didn’t get it.

I’ve broken his heart again.

I reread the words on my paper. How can I possibly recite this love letter to a famous poet like Jasper Grimes?

Jasper is standing now, his cross-body bag slung over a shoulder.

I grip his blazer cuff. “Wait a sec.”

“What’s wrong? You look ill.”

I rip the letter out and smooth the frayed edges. My hands are shaking so much that I can barely make out my own writing.

“Charlie?” Jasper says.

“ROSES ARE RED.”

He jolts back, gripping his chest. “Y-yes, they are.”

Too loud. I hide my face behind the paper. Mortifying. “Can I try that again?”

“Sure,” he mumbles.

“Roses are red. Violets are blue. I’m disappointed that I met you.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“For violets have become the tint of your eyes and your favorite food, reminding me of who fate keeps bumping me into. Now the lies I’ve whispered to myself are drowned out by the truth”—I take an unsteady breath—“I think I’m falling in love with you.”

The waves roll. The heat lamp crackles beside us.

I squeeze my eyes shut. Cringe. So cringe.

Unspoken Guideline 19: Mom was wrong. There are no beautiful memories at Valentine. Only mortifying, terrible, I-want-to-die memories.

Something knocks against me. Jasper, sitting on the bench again, leaning against my shoulder. He buries his face in the crook of my neck. “One more time.”

“Huh?”

“One more time. Recite it again.”

“What? No way—” I try to shrink away. Of course he’s trying to embarrass me. The actual good poet. “Jasper—?”

“Charlie.” I’ve never heard his voice this soft before, yet there’s something more unrestrained that simmers beneath it, too, making my chest burst in ways I never knew existed. “Just the last bit at least.”

“I—” I clench the letter tighter. “Fine. I said, I think I’m falling in love with you.”

Jasper pulls away, dimple popped. The sunlight reflected in his blue eyes shimmers as strikingly as the frozen lake. “Thank you. That was a brilliant poem.”

Unspoken Guideline 19 (Revised): Maybe Mom was right.

“It’s a bit mean,” I mumble, readjusting my glasses to distract myself from the butterflies detonating inside me. “And not really a poem. Just a letter.”

“That’s what makes it brilliant. It’s an authentic work by you. About time.”

“Hey, it was impossible to write other people’s love letters authentically. I didn’t know any of them, unlike you.” I cross my arms.

Jasper’s lip quirks up. “Of course. My apologies.”

“This is still scary, though.”

“What is?”

“Reciting this letter. I thought that once I did, I’d stop being scared. And I have. Sort of. Because I trust you. With everything. But now it feels different. It feels”—I waver—“good, almost? Exciting? Does this make sense?”

Jasper pulls me closer by the wrist and kisses me.

Instantly, I sink into him, letting my arms wrap over his shoulders, and I feel him smile against me as his hand finds my knee, gently trailing higher up my thigh. There’s a hint of bitterness on his lips, probably from the black coffee he drank this morning, and it mixes with the floral notes of his shampoo and fragrance. My head floods with how much I’ve wanted this again from only one bed away, and for so long.

Finally, I let him kiss me first.

His lips drift across my cheek until he’s by my ear, and a chill races through my spine. “Love is never not scary. It’s a matter of whether you’re enjoying that fear.”

“I am. I know I am now.”

“I am too.”

“Really?” I lean back, cupping his rosy face in my palms. “Really?”

“Really,” Jasper says.

So much joy bursts through me—too much—that all I can think to do is kiss his cheeks until my lips are exhausted. A final thought hits me, and my body flashes so hot that I must be a thousand degrees. “Our room.”

He smirks. “Convenient, isn’t it?”

A million degrees. “I—Well. I know you technically just moved back in, but last night, I think I accidentally told your aunt to make sure you stay with her. So I don’t know if you can come back.”

“You what?” Jasper slaps a hand to his forehead and collapses, slumping on the bench. “Charlie von Hevringprinz, you drive me up the wall.”