Love Letter

Lynne:

The final draft of the novel was finished. It was our story. Ian lets me know that he will be staying in the living room to give me my space and shuts the door walking out. Love Letter was sitting in my lap. I open the first part to the Foreword, expecting it to be the same as the rough draft but see it is different.

Foreword

I love you, Lynne Winifred Bettendorf.

This is my love letter for my future wife. I know that one day she will say yes.

I love you.

I am left speechless.

If that is not a declaration, I do not know what is. He will not leave a question in anyone's mind about who he is writing about.

Good.

Reading the beginning left me feeling fuzzy... Everything was there, every detail. Our story – together... When I met his mom – even when he told me he loved me. He did leave out what I had revealed to him that night. I don't know how my sisters would have reacted if they found that out in a novel. They all thought I was at a young writer's convection for those two months I was locked up.

Ian was my lifeline – he brought me to life again.

It is past three in the morning when I step out of the bedroom to find Ian sitting wide awake watching TV. He stands immediately, and I know he wants to ask me a billion questions.

"What did you think?" he asks.

"I love it," I say, stepping toward him.

This was it, this was the time.

"I love you," I say, revealing what I had been thinking since our first date but too scared to say it. Too scared to bring my love to life.

"Lynne," Ian gasps, breaking the distance between us. "You are mine," he says, sweeping me into his arms and carrying me back into the bedroom.

"I am yours," I say as he undresses me, making me more of his.

"That was..." Ian stops thinking, "That's what it feels like being in love," he says, looking at my bare body lying in his arms. I giggle as his hand traces from my hip bone to my chin.

"That was..." I stopped, not knowing how to describe what I was feeling – he had left me speechless again.

"I don't think I can sleep," he says, still tracing my body.

The clock blinks at 4:22 AM, and I know that whenever I see 4:22, I will remember this moment in time. I will remember Ian's hair dishevel as he looks at me like the most priceless thing on Earth.