Where the Skies are Blue

Chapter Fifty-Eight:

It's after hours in the bookshop. All the lights turned off besides the dimmed lamps we left on, creating a moody atmosphere in here. Calming and quiet.

The world is quiet outside.

Just us, sitting in a comfortable silence.

I'm laying on my back on the floor, my legs sprawled across Ender's, as I hold a book in my hands, reading it contently while Ender leans against the bookshelf behind him and writes away in his notebook.

We've been like this for the past two hours. Neither of us talking. Just enjoying one another's company.

It's perfect.

I wish I could spend every night like this.

I've never known someone before where I could enjoy silence like this. Where we can sit without talking and it doesn't feel uncomfortable. I don't have to find something to talk about. We can just be. Peacefully together.

Placing my book down on my chest, my eyes watch Ender write. He's so focused. How does his hand not grow tired? Mine would be cramping after the first few words. He looks so cute. I take in all his features. Everything that makes up the boy I've grown to care about so deeply.

My heart skips a beat.

God, what is this overwhelming feeling? This mushy warmth that appears inside me every time I'm in his presence? This dire need to protect him and touch him and be there for him?

Do I...love him?

No.

Definitely not.

I can't.

Is this what love is supposed to feel like? As opposed to what I thought it was before?

Oh, God.

I think I do love him. I think I've fallen hopelessly in love with Ender Gray, and I don't know when it happened.

Curse you wretched heart. You weak thing that does nothing but get me into trouble. How could I let this happen? I'm going to get hurt. I'm going to sabotage everything. I know it. I'm not worthy of being loved by him. I'm a disaster. A walking catastrophe. I have no future, no plans, no goals. I'm going to hurt him.

Why am I this way?

"You're staring," Ender says while still peering down at his notebook.

Shit.

He looks over at me, his lips curling slightly into a smile that just makes my heart go thump, thump, thump, and the butterflies begin to do somersaults. I can't help the smile that sprouts on my face in return.

I'm screwed.

My cheeks flush. "Still writing about me, I hope?"

"Always." He gives me a wink that makes goosebumps erupt all over my skin.

Does he have any idea what he's doing to me?

I sit up on my elbows. "Let me see." My smile widens; so does his as he shakes his head. "Please? Let me read it, and I'll reward you tremendously." I wiggle my eyebrows at him.

His cheeks turn a shade of pink, but he holds the notebook away from me. "Not a chance."

I pout. "Well, I better be the first to read it before you become the greatest writer ever."

He chuckles. "Unlikely."

"I can see it now. Your name in every bookstore. Movie and show deals are flying out the wazoo. J.K. Rowling—who's that? The only writer anyone will know is you." I move over to his lap, placing one leg on either side of him. He looks up at me with a sparkle in his eyes. "This is me pitching to you, let me read it so I can make you a star, baby." I pretend to have a New Yorker accent.