From Me to You [Complete]

30

We are quiet coming up his driveway, fearing that if we talk we'll wake one of the people sleeping in his cottage –which seems even bigger by night by the way– when Michael suddenly whispers, "Spring." I nearly jump out of my skin.

"What?" I turn to him in confusion.

"Spring," he repeats with finality.

I stare at him, still not understanding.

He shrugs, hiding a smile –or maybe a blush. "You asked me what I thought about your poem, and I never really answered. I just realized it's about spring."

"Oh," I say. "I never thought about it that way."

He looks at me curiously. "So what is it about then?"

"It's called New Hope. I guess it could be about spring. I wanted to write about going through a hard time. Like it's finally over." I pause, cocking my head to the side, going over the words in my mind. "I like your analysis though. It's less personal and more universal."

"Well, what do I know," he murmurs, slightly embarrassed.

"Michael...are you blushing?" I tease.

"Not at all." Although it's dark, I can still see his face enough to know he's fibbing. I giggle. "Hey," he warns, but without much feeling. "You're going to wake the neighbours." I giggle again. "Oh gosh, you're one of those."

I feel giddy, most likely from the lack of sleep and the fact that Michael and I are about to sneak back inside his cottage. "You know, from what I can tell, you'd make a good poem analyst. Is that a job? You should apply if it is," I tease. I know from our letters that he appreciates the poetry but philosophy and space are much more interesting topics for him. He thinks he'll probably go study one of those in university next year.

"Oh dear," he says, but I see his smile. His eyes twinkle. "Have you written any poems about me?"

"Of course not," I say quickly, but this time I blush –probably a few too many poems were about Michael. He chuckles. "Careful!" I warn, also giggling, "You might wake the neighbours!"

"Come here, you." He pulls me toward him. I smile. I feel like he's going to kiss me, but instead he just looks at me for a moment, holding me close.

"It's quiet," he says softly.

"It's nighttime," I remind him.

"Listen," he says. It does sound really quiet, more so than I thought. I can't hear waves or animals or even bugs. I crinkle my eyebrows. He glances up at the sky. "Crystal clear," he says. "But not for long, I think. Storm's coming." His hand runs down my back to rest at my waist.

I look at the sky, having no idea what to look for. "Since when did you become a weather buff?" I ask, a little curiously, and a little teasingly.

"I guess it's just a hidden talent."

"I think you're just observant," I remind him.

"Oh, right, I forgot about that one," he says.

"Should we head inside before the storm gets here?" I ask.

His eyes twinkle. "If you insist."