53 Letters For My Lover by Leylah Attar Read Free Book Online

down my papers before kneeling next to me. Dusty sneakers, grey sweatpants, a ‘University of Waterloo’ sweatshirt, and then—the most startling pair of blue eyes. They reminded me of the cut outs I had saved in my wish book, of the places I wanted to visit. Blue like the water that surrounds the islands in the South Pacific. I felt like I had been picked off the pavement and plopped smack dab in the middle of it. I floated there for a while, suspended in its endless horizons as it held me for long, still seconds.
    The chut-chut-chut-chut of an automatic sprinkler transported me back to the suburban street. I blinked and started getting up.
    “Shhh. Don’t move,” he said. “Not a muscle.”
    “Huh?” I had the most peculiar urge to flee. My cheeks were already burning like I had run a long way.
    “Don’t move. There’s a butterfly. On your shoulder.”
    I froze. I don’t know why. I couldn’t even see it.
    “What color?” I asked.
    “Red.”
    “Red?” I felt that molten blue stare on me again.
    “It’s the most beautiful thing I’ve seen,” he said.
    I dared not breathe.
    “You know,” he continued, “there’s a Native American legend which says that if you want a wish to come true, you must capture a butterfly and whisper your wish to it. Since it makes no sound, it won’t tell the wish to anyone but the Great Spirit. By making the wish and releasing the butterfly, your wish will be taken to the heavens and be granted.”
    “Are you...are you going to try and catch it?”
    “Only if it wants to be caught.”
    I squeezed the bundle of papers in my hand to stop them from shaking. His gaze dropped to my lap, breaking that electric contact. When he looked up, his eyes were different.
    “It’s gone.”
    “What?”
    “The butterfly.”
    I nodded, letting my breath out.
    “Are you all right? You’re not hurt, are you?” he asked.
    “No.” But every second he looked at me, he zapped through another layer of my safe, calm cocoon.
    “I’d say I’m sorry for running into you, but I’m not really.” He smiled as he handed me the rest of the papers.
    It wasn’t fair. Having a smile like that.
    I looked away, my eyes focusing on the silver cross that hung from a rosary around his neck.
    “Need some help?” He held out his hand.
    “I’m fine.”
    He paused for a beat, then he turned and took off, the steady thump of his footsteps fading into the summer morning.
    I looked at my watch. 9:05 a.m. I was late. And all the forms were out of order. And my heart was beating like I’d jumped over a thousand hurdles. I rounded the corner to Bob’s house and rang the doorbell.
    A second later, I was staring at the blue eyed stranger through the criss-cross mesh of the screen door.
    Of course. Bob’s son. Home for the summer. How could that have slipped my mind?
    “Ryan?” I asked, turning red as he appraised me from head to toe.
    “I’m Ryan.” A head popped up beside him. “He’s Troy. Who are you?”
    “Coming through, coming through.” Bob’s familiar voice. “Oh hey, Shayda.” He stepped out and held the door open for me. “Boys, this is my assistant. Be nice.” He gave them a stern look. “I’ve left some notes for you, Shayda, but I’ll be back in a couple of hours.”
    “Okay.” I put my head down, parted my way through two hard, muscular bodies and marched into the office.
    “Holy crap. My dad’s assistant? She’s smokin’!” said Ryan.
    “Lay off, man. She’s married.” I heard Troy reply.
    I dropped the papers on the desk. My wedding band. He’d noticed. And run. Literally. I smiled in spite of myself.
    “Oh my god. Oh my god. Oh my god!” Jayne came into the room and shut the door. “Did you see Ryan’s friend?”
    “I did.” I laughed.
    It was way before noon, but Jayne was up. Her hair was combed and she had on a dab of mascara.
    “So he was washing his car yesterday. No. Shirt. Eeeeee!” she squealed. Then she opened the door a crack and peeked out.