By the Book (Meant to Be #2)(92)

Now another thing made sense. She’d known Marta had said something else to him at the end of that call.

I didn’t tell Izzy that part—she knows how terrified I am for anyone but her to read what I’ve written. I thought if I told her, she’d realize how important it was to me for her to stay. And that she’d realize how I felt about her.

At first I thought I was just attracted to Izzy in the same way that I’ve been attracted to lots of women. I thought it was just that this one felt different, because I knew I couldn’t do anything about it. Then, as she stayed longer, as we talked more, as we got closer, I thought it was because we were friends now, and her friendship was important to me.

But now I know I’m really starting to fall for her. Does she think about me in any way other than a friend—sort of—or a work project? I have no idea.

All I know for sure is it’s getting harder and harder not to let her know how I feel.



Izzy remembered how she felt, back then. At that point, she’d been trying to pretend her feelings for Beau away. At least he’d admitted his feelings to himself.

We kissed yesterday, on the beach. She kissed me first, and then I kissed her back, and then we just kissed each other, for a really long time. My mom still knows me so well, after all that time—she could tell, just from how I talked about her, that I’m falling for Izzy. She told me to go for it—I can’t believe I’m getting woman advice from my mom, but she was right, wasn’t she?

Izzy and I didn’t talk about much. I told her that I’ve been wanting to kiss her since the beginning, and she seemed surprised, almost like she didn’t believe me at first. I almost told her to just flip open this notebook and she’d know for sure, but then I caught myself.



And then, a week later, just a few lines.

Izzy woke up in my bed this morning. I think, for the first time in a long time, I’m actually happy. I think she is, too. She’s smiling, across from me, as she writes. I just realized I’m smiling, too.



God, she missed him.

She’s leaving. I knew it was coming—we both knew it was coming—but we thought we had more time. She’s leaving the day after tomorrow.

This morning she pulled me in here and told me she has an interview for another job, a job I know she really wants. I’m thrilled for her, of course I am, she tries not to talk about it too much, but I know she’s really struggled at her job for a while. She needs this. I wanted to tell her that I don’t want her to go, to please not go, but I stopped myself. I don’t want her to feel guilty. I can’t hold her back.

I did tell her I’m going to miss her, though. I couldn’t help it. Because my God, I’m going to miss her, so much.



It wasn’t until her tears dropped down onto the notebook that Izzy realized she was crying. She turned the page.

It’s our last time, here in the library. The last time, with her sitting across from me like this, pressing her lips together when she’s concentrating, taking her hair down and putting it back up and then taking it down again every five minutes, smiling at me when she looks up from my laptop like she’s proud of me, grinning at me when I grab her as soon as we walk out of this room. Fuck. I hate this. I’m going to miss her so much.



And then just one more page.

She left yesterday. I’m sitting in the window seat in the library—I couldn’t bear to sit in my regular chair and look across the table and not see her, but I also couldn’t bear to not work here in the library, where it’s like I can feel her here with me.

I’ve been sitting here for hours, writing. I’m almost done with the book. I think I can send it to Marta soon, even tomorrow. I wrote all night, mostly just to give myself something to do. I didn’t want to go to bed, I knew I would miss her too much.

I didn’t tell her how I feel about her, before she left. I wanted to, the words were on my lips, but I stopped myself. At first I told myself it was for her, that I didn’t want to hold her back, that I didn’t want to distract her from the interview, that I didn’t want her to think I wanted her to stay with me instead of following her dream.

But now I realize that was just an excuse. I was scared to tell her how I feel about her, scared she doesn’t feel the same way, scared she was relieved and happy to go back to New York and her old life there and leave me behind.

And maybe it’s true. Maybe she does feel that way.

But I have to know for sure.

I’m going to make myself send this notebook to her. I realized when she gave it back to me before she left that I’d always thought of it as hers. That I’ve always been writing all of this to her.

I’ve always been writing this to you, Izzy, if you’re reading this, if you’ve gotten this far. This has all always been for you.





Izzy closed the notebook and wiped her eyes, even though it didn’t do any good. The tears just kept coming.

She looked around for her phone. She had to call Beau.

Oh God. She’d left her phone at her desk again? She’d gotten so used to not taking her bag—or her phone—everywhere with her when she’d been in Santa Barbara. She was out of practice. She had to get back to her desk to get it.

She walked the few blocks back to the office as words, phrases, sentences from the notebook ran through her brain. She couldn’t believe he’d been writing about her since the beginning. All this time, when she hadn’t known how she’d felt, he’d known how he felt. All this time, when she hadn’t been sure of him, he’d been right there.