No, I said I’ll do it.” I reach down to stuff the letter deeper into my coat pocket, and Peter tries to snatch it out of my hand. I twist away from him wildly and hold on tight. He shrugs, and I relax and let out a small sigh of relief, and then he lunges forward and plucks it away from me. Pug Rescue of North Carolina Inc Adopt A Pug shirt.  I pant, “Give it back, Peter!”

Pug Rescue of North Carolina Inc Adopt A Pug shirt

Blithely he says, “Tampering with US mail is a federal offense.” Then he looks down at the envelope. “This is to me. From you.” I make a desperate grab for the envelope, and it takes him by surprise. We wrestle for it; I’ve got the corner of it in my grip, but he’s not letting go. “Stop, you’re going to rip it!” he yells, prying it out of my grasp. Pug Rescue of North Carolina Inc Adopt A Pug shirt.  I try to grab harder, but it’s too late. He has it. Because, I don’t know, you didn’t seem so glad to see me. . . .” My voice trails off lamely. “It’s called playing hard to get! I’ve been waiting for you to call me, you dummy. It’s been six days.”

Nice shirt!

Peter holds the envelope above my head and tears it open and begins to read. It’s torturous standing there in front of him, waiting—for what, I don’t know. More humiliation? I should probably just go. He’s such a slow reader. I suck in my breath. “Oh!” “‘Oh.’” He pulls me by the lapels of my coat, closer to him, close enough to kiss. He’s so close I can see the puffs his breath makes. So close When he’s finally done, he asks, “Why weren’t you going to give me this? Why were you just going to leave?”