That’s probably my favorite dream of yours to date.
I’m sitting out here on the patio, writing the love letter I thought I had five more months to write. Part of me is a little nervous because, like I said, I’ve never been much of a writer. My imagination isn’t as wild as yours, as evidenced by the things you dream about. But writing a letter to you about how much I love you should come pretty easily, so hopefully this letter and this gift to you will serve its purpose.
Honestly, Quinn, I don’t even know where to start. I guess the beginning is the most obvious choice, right?
I could begin by talking about the day we met in the hallway. The day I realized that maybe my life was thrown off course because fate had something even better in store for me.
But instead, I’m going to talk about the day we didn’t meet. This will probably come as a surprise to you because you don’t remember it. Or maybe you do have a memory of it but you just didn’t realize it was me.
It was a few months before we met in the hallway. Ethan’s father held a Christmas party for their employees and I was Sasha’s date. You were Ethan’s date. And while I will admit I was still wrapped up in all things Sasha at the time, something about you was engraved in my memory after that night.
We hadn’t been formally introduced, but you were just a few feet away and I knew who you were because Sasha had pointed you and Ethan out a few minutes before. She said Ethan was in line to be her next boss and you were in line to be his wife.
You were wearing a black dress with black heels. Your hair was up in a tight bun and I overheard you joking with someone about how you looked just like the caterers. They all wore black and the girls had their hair styled the same way as yours. I don’t know if the catering team was shorthanded that night, but I remember seeing someone walk up to you and ask for a refill on his champagne. Rather than correct him, you just walked behind the bar and refilled his champagne. You then took the bottle and started refilling other people’s glasses. When you finally made it over to me and Sasha, Ethan walked up and asked what you were doing. You told him you were refilling drinks like it was no big deal, but he didn’t like it. I could tell by the look on his face that it embarrassed him. He told you to put down the champagne bottle because there was someone he wanted you to meet. He walked off and I’ll never forget what you did next.
You turned to me and you rolled your eyes with a laugh, then held up the champagne bottle and offered me a refill.
I smiled at you and held out my glass. You refilled Sasha’s glass and proceeded to offer refills to other guests until the bottle was finally empty.
I don’t remember much else about that night. It was a mundane party and Sasha was in a bad mood most of the time so we left early. And to be honest, I didn’t think about you much after that.
Not until the day I saw you again in the hallway. When you stepped off the elevator and walked toward Ethan’s door, I should have been filled with nothing but absolute dread and disgust over what was happening inside Ethan’s apartment. But for a brief moment, I felt myself wanting to smile when I laid eyes on you. Seeing you reminded me of the party and how easy-going you were. I liked how you didn’t care if people thought you were a caterer or the girlfriend of the Ethan Van Kemp. And it wasn’t until the moment you joined me in the hallway—when your presence somehow brought me to the brink of smiling during the worst moment of my life—that I knew everything would be fine. I knew that my inevitable breakup with Sasha wasn’t going to break me.
I don’t know why I never told you that. Maybe because I liked the idea of us meeting in a hallway under the same circumstances. Or maybe because I was worried you wouldn’t remember that night at the party or refilling my glass of champagne. Because why would you? That moment held no significance.
Until it did.
I would write more about our meeting in the hallway, but you know all about it. Or maybe I could write more about the first night we made love, or the fact that once we finally reconnected, we never wanted to spend a single second apart. Or I could write about the day I proposed to you and you so stupidly agreed to spend the rest of your life with a man who couldn’t possibly give you all that you deserve in this world.
But I don’t really want to talk about any of that. Because you were there for all of it. Besides, I’m almost positive your love letter to me details every minute of us falling in love, so I’d hate to waste my letter on repeating something you more than likely put into words more eloquently than I ever could.