Chapter 3

Harry frowned slightly, apparently displeased by my question.

"Gemma comes to Westhaven for work all the time. It's not safe for her to stay in hotels. I have a spare room, so I let her stay here."

Gemma handed me a pair of unopened hotel slippers. "Maddison, don't get the wrong idea. I only stay here occasionally. Harry's only looking after me because of you."

I walked into the living room, my eyes sweeping over the plush throw pillows on the couch and the pink floral mug on the coffee table.

Traces of Gemma filled every corner of the apartment.

The low table suddenly wobbled. I looked down and saw half of a white envelope sticking out from beneath one of the legs.

I pulled one out.

The familiar handwriting on the envelope stabbed at me. It was the first line I'd written three years ago: "May these words find you well."

When our long-distance relationship had first begun, Harry told me he loved the warmth of handwritten letters.

I believed him.

There was one letter every week, without fail.

At first, he'd written back. Then, little by little, the replies stopped coming. I thought he'd kept them somewhere safe. I never imagined that the words I'd written with all my heart had been used to prop up a table leg.

"Who put these here?"

Gemma looked completely innocent. "I did. I thought they were just junk mail, so I used them to level Harry's table."

She caught hold of my sleeve. "Maddison, please don't be mad. I really didn't know they were yours."

Harry's tone turned impatient. "Come on. What's the big deal? They're just a few letters. Do you really have to make a face over this?"

"One hundred and fifty-six letters."

"Do you really have to obsess over the number?"

I simply bent down, pulled the letters out from beneath the table leg one by one, and walked over to the trash can.

The envelopes fluttered into the trash one after another, like a ridiculous funeral.

Harry's expression darkened. "Maddison, what the hell are you doing? Gemma already apologized. Do you really have to make everyone miserable?"

Gemma's eyes welled up with tears. "Maddison, I'll buy you a whole pack of stationery to replace them."

My voice was dry. "No need. They're just scraps of paper. If they're trash, then throw them away."

Harry stared at me in stunned disbelief. His lips moved, but no words came out.

Late that night, Gemma went back to the guest room.

The ache in my lower back grew stronger and stronger. Sitting on the couch, I couldn't help reaching back to press a hand against it.

Harry looked at how pale I was, as if he finally realized something. He came up behind me and placed his warm palm against my lower back. He began massaging it with just the right amount of pressure.

"Twenty hours in coach. Your back must be killing you. Let me work it out for you."

Back when my back used to hurt, he'd stayed up until the early hours following massage videos, until even his wrists had swollen.

His voice softened. "Once your transfer goes through, move in here. I'll clear out the balcony so you can grow flowers."

I sat rigidly on the couch, feeling the warmth of his hand.

The guest-room door suddenly opened. Gemma walked out wearing Harry's white shirt and leaned against the doorframe with a smile.

"Harry's massage technique just keeps getting better. Last time I was away for work and my back was killing me, Harry massaged it for half an hour. It felt so good I fell asleep."

Harry didn't stop massaging me. He chuckled. "Was your back really hurting? You'd just gained weight. You had love handles around your waist. Of course it felt good when I massaged them."

Gemma shot him an annoyed, playful look. "You're the one with love handles! Jerk."

Their banter was as natural as that of an old married couple. I felt like an outsider who had accidentally wandered into someone else's family.

I slowly straightened and moved away from Harry's hand. "You don't have to massage me anymore. I'm going to take a shower."