Dear John - By Nicholas Sparks Page 0,61

the conversation drifted from army life to teaching to some of the kids he coached and his hopes for their future. I liked him. From my seat, I could hear Savannah and her mom chatting in the kitchen, and every now and then, Savannah would come into the living room with a basket of laundry to fold while her mother started another load in the washing machine. Though technically a college graduate and an adult, she still brought her dirty clothes home to Mom.

That night, we drove back to Chapel Hill, and Savannah showed me her apartment. It was sparse in the furniture department, but it was relatively new, and it had both a gas fireplace and small balcony that offered a view of the campus. Despite the warm weather, she got the fire going, and we snacked on cheese and crackers, which, aside from cereal, was about all she had to offer. It felt indescribably romantic to me, though I’d come to realize that being alone with Savannah always struck me as romantic. We talked until nearly midnight, but Savannah was quieter than usual. In time, she wandered to the bedroom. When she didn’t return, I went to find her. She was sitting on the bed, and I stopped in the doorway.

She squeezed her hands together and drew a long breath. “So . . . ,” she began.

“So . . . ,” I responded when she remained silent.

She drew another long breath. “It’s getting late. And I’ve got an early class tomorrow.”

I nodded. “You should probably get some sleep.”

“Yeah,” she said. She nodded as if she hadn’t considered it and turned toward the window. Through the blinds, I could see shafts of light streaming in from the parking lot. She was cute when she was nervous.

“So . . . ,” she said again, as if speaking to the wall.

I held up my hands. “Why don’t I sleep on the couch, okay?”

“You wouldn’t mind?”

“Not at all,” I said. Actually, it wasn’t what I preferred, but I understood.

Still staring toward the window, she made no move to get up. “I’m just not ready,” she said, her voice soft. “I mean, I thought I was, and part of me really wants to. I’ve been thinking about it for the last few weeks, and I made up my mind and it just seemed right, you know? I love you and you love me, and this is what people do when they’re in love. It was easy to tell myself when you weren’t here, but now . . .” She trailed off.

“It’s okay,” I said.

At last she turned toward me. “Were you scared? Your first time?”

I wondered how best to answer that. “I think it’s different for men and women,” I said.

“Yeah. I suppose so.” She pretended to adjust the blankets. “Are you mad?”

“Not at all.”

“But you’re disappointed.”

“Well . . . ,” I admitted, and she laughed.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“There’s no reason to apologize.”

She thought about it. “Then why does it feel like I have to apologize?”

“Well, I am a lonely soldier,” I pointed out, and she laughed again. I could still hear the nervousness in it.

“The couch isn’t very comfortable,” she fretted. “And it’s small. You won’t be able to stretch out. And I don’t have any extra blankets. I should have grabbed a couple from home, but I forgot.”

“That is a problem.”

“Yeah,” she said. I waited.

“I suppose you could sleep with me,” she ventured.

I waited while she continued her own internal debate. Finally she shrugged. “You want to give it a try? Just sleeping, I mean?”

“Whatever you say.”

For the first time, her shoulders relaxed. “Okay, then. We’ve got that settled. Just give me a minute to change.”

She rose from the bed, crossed the room, and opened a drawer. The pajamas she chose were similar to the ones she’d worn at her parents’, and I left her to go back to the living room, where I slipped on some of my workout shorts and a T-shirt. By the time I returned, she was already under the covers. I went to the other side and crawled in beside her. She shuffled the covers before turning out the light, then lay on her back, staring toward the ceiling. I lay on my side, facing her.

“Good night,” she whispered.

“Good night.”

I knew I wouldn’t sleep. Not for a while, anyway. I was too . . . worked up for that. But I didn’t want to toss and turn, in case she could.

“Hey,” she finally whispered again.

“Yes?”

She rolled

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