So, yes, all isn’t quite right with my world, but if there’s anything I learned this summer, it’s to live each day to the fullest, perfect or not. And this is a good night.
“Get your ass in here, Olivia. We want to make a toast,” Daisy calls.
I walk out carrying a big platter and see all these faces I love around the large butcher block table. There’s Daisy and Audrey, Mr. Jensen and his friend Mrs. Maple, who’s arrived from Los Angeles, and Rose from the bakery down the block.
I place the roast chicken on the table with pride. I’m more of a baker than an accomplished cook, so this is the very first dinner I’ve made entirely on my own. It looks a little burned on the top, but otherwise, I think I did okay. The chicken is surrounded by lemons and potatoes that were in the bottom of the pan, soaking up the juices. Sprigs of rosemary from the garden decorate the top. I hope someone knows how to carve a chicken, because I have no idea.
Everyone claps, and the stress of preparing this meal and worrying that we’d have to order pizza melts away in a glow of love for my friends.
Daisy stands and raises her glass of wine. “You know I’m not one for speeches.”
I roll my eyes, because she so is one for speeches.
She continues, “But I’m happy that your grandma was such a hot, rocking babe and modeled for that photo because it saved the day by paying for your property taxes and kept you in my ’hood. You’re my girl, and no other neighbor would do. To Naked Nanna saving the day!”
“To Naked Nanna!” Everyone raises their glasses and clinks them.
I shake my head but laugh. Nanna would approve.
We dig into the food. Everyone contributed to the feast, which is good, because cooking a chicken was my culinary limit for the day. There’s fresh bread from baker Rose that’s probably the most divine thing I’ve ever tasted. Mr. Jensen brought a salad. Mrs. Maple brought two bottles of Napa wine. And Daisy brought fancy cupcakes for dessert. Designer cupcakes are her thing.
My phone dings. My heart constricts when I see the name on the phone.
“I have to…” I snatch the phone and push back from the table, speed walking to the kitchen.
“Are you okay?” Daisy asks my back.
I wave vaguely. “Just checking on…dessert.” Which makes no sense, because the only dessert is the cupcakes Daisy brought.
I lean over the counter, and my hands shake as I open the message.
His messages are sucking me back into him, which isn’t healthy. I swear to myself I’ll tell him to stop messaging. Stop playing with my heart. Soon.
A burst of laughter filters into the kitchen, and that sound of joy bolsters me. This heartbreak is still fresh, but each cut taught me something, let the light into the dark spaces.
“My Typewriter Girl.” I read the words on the screen out loud, but I can imagine his voice saying the words. It’s so clear.
“I want to make new rules with you,” Chase’s voice continues. Really, it’s his voice that continues.
I swing around.
Chase fills the doorway of my kitchen.
“You’re here?” It’s half statement, half question.
I’m not sure he’s real, looking impossibly handsome in a forest-green T-shirt that matches his eyes and well-worn jeans that mold to his muscles and large frame. His hair is an artful mess as usual, and his face, oh that face, is beloved. Though his warm smile doesn’t match his eyes, which are full of uncertainty.
He takes a step closer to me. “Only real names this time. Only real life.”
Nothing is making sense.
“Read it,” he says with a nod at my phone. I frown and look at the words on the screen.
Remington:
My Typewriter Girl,
I want to make new rules with you.
Only real names this time.
Only real life.
And maybe the occasional dick pic （your choice）。
A sound between a laugh and a gasp escapes me. My hand flies to my heart, as if steadying it, as if warning it to calm down.
He’s rewritten our letter. Those first rules we lived by for all those years. Those rules that kept us only on the screen.
One more step, and he’s directly in front of me. He takes my chin and gently tilts it back up to him, away from the screen.
“Does this mean…？” I can’t say it. Can’t dare to hope. So I tilt my head and latch on to the first thing that comes to mind. “No dick pics, ever. You’d get hacked, and your dick would go viral.”
He laughs, and the sound is so welcome. That’s when he says the last line on the screen. I know, because I’m a fast reader and I read ahead. So sue me, I like spoilers.