2.) I miss you and I have missed you. During my first season, when I won the Offensive Rookie of the Year Award (Was there ever any doubt I would win this?) I wanted nothing more than to look out into the crowd and see you standing there. During my second season, when I won The Most Valuable Player Award for the regular season, I wished that you were sitting next to me at the ceremony. Not Anna, not Kyle, not my teammates. You. (For brevity purposes, and since you haven’t been watching me on the field: you should know that I’ve won an award every single season. (Because yes, I’m that good :-)) And every single time I felt as if someone was missing from the moment.)

3.) I want to be with you. Period. I haven’t had a good night’s sleep since I saw you in Pittsburgh, haven’t been able to get through a single day without wondering what you’re up to, and I don’t want to go another day without having you by my side again.

If you feel the same and if you think what we had in the past is worth a second chance, please write me back and let me know.

I’ll wish you well and I’ll still love you no matter what you choose.

Grayson

PS—Is the name of your café & art gallery (“Rosy-gan”) an anagram for my name or is that a coincidence?

PSS—I wanted to call you and say all of this over the phone, but I forgot to ask for your current phone number. (What’s the wait time on getting that from you these days? :) )

CHARLOTTE: ON A TUESDAY

Present Day

New York City

DAILY LATTES, FLOWERS, town car service, and wine.

Ever since Grayson sent me the letter a month ago, he'd made sure to let me know that he was impatiently waiting for an answer by sending me all of those things. The caramel lattes that were delivered to my condo every morning bore the words “I need an answer” on their sleeves. The beautiful bouquets that arrived on the doorstep of my gallery at midday featured “I need an answer” wrapping paper around their stems. The labels on the wine bottles that came every Wednesday read, “Answer Grayson’s letter,” and my new town car driver looked over his shoulder each time I slipped into the backseat and asked, “You give him an answer yet?”

As sweet as the gestures were, I honestly wasn’t sure how to respond to his letter. I couldn't pinpoint any bad times we had in college, and after realizing that our plans were sabotaged by an outside party and not by him, I was leaning toward a yes. But I still had a few doubts.

Can we really pick up where we left off seven years ago?

I stepped into my brownstone and immediately dropped my groceries to the floor. There were white and pink flowers everywhere—on the steps, down the hallway, and in the kitchen. I walked into the living room and spotted Grayson sitting on my couch.

“I could’ve sworn we discussed that breaking and entering is a crime,” I said. “For the record, assaulting someone’s home with flowers is also a crime.”

“I’ve never heard of that offense.”

“You never majored in pre-law.”

“You never went to law school.”

I smiled. “How’d you get in?”

“Your landlord is a fan of mine. I also promised him I wouldn’t steal anything.”

I stared at him, unsure of what to say.

He walked over to me and held up a torn ticket stub, one from a game that was this past season. “I thought you said you’ve never been to any of my home games.”

“I’ve been to every single one...Well, minus the year I was in Alaska. I did watch from there, though.”

“Even though you hated me?”

“I still loved you,” I said. “And I was proud of you. I still am.”

He dropped the stub and wrapped his arm around my waist. “I would’ve believed what Anna said if I was in your shoes back then. I’m sorry I assumed you left me for no reason.”

"It's good to finally know you weren't as heartless and cold as I thought.” I looked away from him, but he used his other hand to cup my chin, making me face him again.

“We’ve lost seven years of each other,” he said, looking right into my eyes. “Is it too late for a second chance?”

“I don’t know, but you promised to give me some time to think about it.” My heart was fluttering against my chest, begging me to take him back on the spot. “If you would give me that time, I could give you an answer.”

“The last time I waited for you to give me an answer, it took months.” He ran his fingers through my hair. “And all I got in return was your phone number.”

A laugh escaped my lips. “The flowers and lattes you’ve sent me every day are amazing. The pink donuts last week were a nice touch, too.”

“All these years and you still deflect questions by changing the subject? It’s still sexy as hell on you, but you’re not getting away with it today.”

I felt my cheeks reddening. “What do you want me to say, Grayson?”

“I can’t sleep until I know your answer,” he said, “I’m not leaving until you tell me, and if I don’t like the answer, I’ll keep asking for a new one.”

“What happened to you saying that you’ll wish me well, no matter what I decide?”

“That was a lie.” His lips brushed against mine. “I won’t be able to wish you well until you realize you belong with me.”

“And if my answer is no?”

“I have a feeling it isn’t.” He gently pushed me against the wall. “I think you want to pick up right where we left off, as badly as I do.”

“I have some terms and conditions,” I said softly.

“Name them.”

“One, you need to fire Anna.”

“I already did. Two?”

“You’ll have to give me time—actual time, to get used to your lifestyle.”

“My lifestyle?” He looked confused.

“I’m not used to paparazzi and gossip blogs reporting my every move or waiting for me outside my house just to snap a photo. You’ve gotten used to it, but I don't think I will be for a long time."

“Would you like it if I put out a statement and hired you some personal security?”

I nodded.

“Okay.” He kissed my forehead. “Three?”

“If I take you back, you can’t be with anyone else while we’re together. No staged or fake relationships just to help other people’s careers or get good press. Your only relationship statement will be about me.”

“That’s a given, Charlotte.” He held me even tighter. “That’s almost a waste of a condition.”

“Not to me,” I said softly. “And lastly—”

“Yes?”

“Kiss me before I change my mind.”

GRAYSON: ON A TUESDAY

Epilogue

Two years later

SUBJECT: THIS YEAR’S Champion/MVP.

Dear Grayson,

I hope you’re sitting at home on this amazing winter day and thinking hard about your past season. Yes, your team only lost three games, but you never made it to the Super-Bowl.

However, since I did and my team is currently taking to the streets in a victory parade, I thought I would be a terrible best friend if I didn’t share this moment with you via pictures. (They’re attached)

You’re very welcome for the twenty point defeat I handed you in the playoffs.

(I look forward to doing the same thing to your team next season)

The MVP this year,

Kyle

SUBJECT: RE: THIS YEAR’S Champion/MVP.

Dear Kyle,

I’m not sitting at home on this amazing winter day, and I am not thinking hard about my past season at all, as it’s now irrelevant. I’m sitting in my car waiting for you to finally get here so I can propose to my future wife.

Your fucking parade was last week. You had someone hand-deliver the oversized pictures for framing at Charlotte’s gallery. (I’m going to remember that shit next year) and I’m sure you’re responsible for the new billboard outside my window that reads, “I Beat Grayson Connors This Year.” Or, is that not your work?

Hurry up,