Dear John - By Nicholas Sparks Page 0,59

surprise on me the day before the flight. Now, I had nothing against meeting her parents, mind you. I was sure they were wonderful people and all that, but if I had my way, I would rather have had Savannah all to myself at least for the first few days. It’s kind of hard to make up for lost time with the parents around. Even if we didn’t get physical—and knowing Savannah, I was pretty sure we wouldn’t, though I kept my fingers crossed—how would her parents treat me if I kept their daughter out until the wee hours, even if all we did was lie under the stars? Granted, she was an adult, but parents were funny when it came to their own kids, and I was under no illusions that they’d be understanding about the whole thing. She would always be their little girl, if you know what I mean.

But Savannah had had a point when she explained it to me. I had two weekends free, and if I planned to see my dad on the second weekend, I had to see hers the first weekend. Besides, she sounded so excited about the whole thing that all I could say was that I was looking forward to meeting them. Still, I wondered if I’d even be able to hold her hand, and I speculated about whether I could talk her into taking a little detour on the way to Lenoir.

As soon as the plane landed, my anticipation grew and I could feel my ticker booming. But I didn’t know how to act. Should I jog toward her as soon as I spotted her or stroll casually, cool and in control? I still wasn’t sure, but before I could dwell on it, I was in the cattle chute, moving up the aisle. I slung my duffel bag over my shoulder as I emerged from the ramp that accessed the terminal. I didn’t see her at first—too many folks milling around. When I scanned the area a second time, I saw her off to the left and realized instantly that all my worries had been pointless, for she spotted me and came running at full tilt. I barely had time to drop my duffel bag before she jumped into my arms, and the kiss that followed was like its own magic kingdom, complete with its special language and geography, fabulous myths and wonders for the ages. And when she pulled back and whispered, “I missed you so much,” I felt as if I’d been put back together after spending a year cut in half.

I don’t know how long we stood together, but when we finally began moving toward the baggage claim, I slipped my hand into hers knowing that I loved her not only more than the last time I’d seen her, but more than I would ever love anyone.

On the drive we talked easily, but we did make a small detour. After pulling into a rest stop, we made out like teenagers. It was great—let’s leave it at that—and a couple of hours later, we arrived at her house. Her parents were waiting on the porch of a neat, two-story Victorian. Surprising me, her mother hugged me as soon as I got close, then offered me a beer. I declined, mostly because I knew I’d be the only one drinking, but I appreciated the effort. Savannah’s mom, Jill, was a lot like Savannah: friendly, open, and a lot sharper than she first came across. Her dad was exactly the same, and I actually had a good time visiting with them. It didn’t hurt that Savannah held my hand the whole time and seemed completely at ease doing so. Toward the end of the evening, she and I went for a long moonlit walk. By the time we got back to the house, it felt almost as if we’d never been apart at all.

It went without saying that I slept in the guest room. I hadn’t expected otherwise, and the room was a lot better than most places I’d stayed, with classic furniture and a comfortable mattress. The air was stuffy, though, and I opened the window, hoping the mountain air would bring welcome cool. It had been a long day—I was still on German time—and I fell asleep immediately, only to wake up an hour later when I heard my door squeak open. Savannah, wearing comfy cotton pajamas and socks, closed the door behind her and started toward the

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