Backstage Romance: An Austen-Inspired Romantic Comedy Box Set by Gigi Blume (ebook reader with highlighter txt) 📕

Wow. I’m surprised at how cathartic that feels. I should scream more often.

Ingram’s standing in front of me before I realize he moved. His warm hands caress my shoulders. He speaks softly, barely a whisper, and he’s so gentle, I almost believe him when he says, “That guy’s not me. I’ll never hurt you.”

I can’t even look him in the face. If I do, I might crumble.

“That guy is you.” He doesn’t even remember. It was that insignificant to him. Mr. Ivy League.

“Me? I... I was away at school. Hundreds of miles away.”

“You promised me you’d come. You said you couldn’t wait.”

His brows twist in dismay, putting deep wrinkles in his forehead.

“I didn’t even know when your prom was. I would have dropped everything if you’d asked me to take you. Even my finals.”

I shake my head, trying to wiggle from his magic man sorcery.

“You don’t believe me. Rosemary, I swear. I would never break a promise to you.”

“And yet you did. You even told me what color dress to buy.”

His gaze scans my body unapologetically. “I think I’d remember a conversation like that.”

I smack his arm. “Pig.”

“So sorry.”

“You wrote me back. I read your words over and over again. But they were all lies.”

“Hold up. This was an email?”

“No. I’d at least think you’d remember all the letters I sent you.”

“Letters? You wrote me letters? And mailed them?”

“Yeaaah. That’s usually how you send letters.”

He stares off, playing dumb. “I never got any letters.”

“But you wrote me back. You even quoted Taylor Swift songs.”

“I don’t even know any Taylor Swift songs.”

“You said... you loved me.”

“That’s the only true part in this whole crazy story. I’ve loved you ever since that summer before your Senior year when you and Bing drove me back to the University. I probably loved you before then but didn’t realize it. The way you helped carry boxes into my room and shoveled pizza in your mouth with the worst of the frat boys... I was a goner.” He chokes out a soft half-laugh. “The frat brothers used to tease me about it.”

“Pretty words, Yale Boy.”

“You know I went to Stanford, right?”

“Yes, yes. But Stanford Boy doesn’t have the same ring. I remember where you went to school. Duh. That’s where I sent the letters.”

Awareness dawns on his features. “You sent them to the Frat house?”

I nod, getting a sinking feeling in the pit of my stomach. There’s a serious Immortal Beloved vibe goin‘ down in my head. Beethoven’s stuck in the rain with a broken carriage wheel while his love awaits. But she can’t wait forever. And she’s gone when he arrives too late, just missing her by minutes. It rips my heart out every time. And yes, I do realize I watch too many period dramas.

“No wonder the guys never shut up about you.” He’s speaking under his breath into the distance. It’s more of a thought than a statement. “Rose, I moved out of the Frat house before Christmas break. I couldn’t stand those jerks.”

“So, if it wasn’t you who answered my letters...”

“It was probably Nate. Or Deke.”

I don’t remember any Nate or Deke but I imagine a picture of two quintessential frat boys and my blood boils. Ingram snaps his gaze back to me. He’s wearing that same Beethoven look of horror.

“I came home to see you graduate high school. I came to tell you how I felt.”

His eyes search mine and I can see all the years we spent hating each other flood to the surface and bleed out. “When you saw me after the ceremony your exact words were, ‘Kiss my grits.’ I’ll never forget how it felt when I realized you weren’t joking.”

“Kiss my grits? I said that?” I shouldn’t want to laugh but it’s too good.

“Yeah,” he says with a grin. There’s a bewildered undertone, but he thinks it’s funny, too. Now we’re busting up. It’s ridiculous, but we’re laughing so hard our eyes water. The whole thing is absurd.

“You do realize,” he says between peals of laughter. “All this could have been avoided if you’d have just talked to me.”

“I was a teenager. You were a hot older man. I was too nervous to talk to you. Why do you think I wrote letters? It was safe.”

“Not so safe, after all.”

“No, I guess not.” I frown through the giggles. What a mess.

He gathers me in his arms and we hold on to each other until our tears of laughter subside and our breathing settles. I feel more at home in his embrace than anywhere in the world. He strokes my hair and cradles me into long, silent minutes. Even the music stopped. It’s just us and our beating hearts—and occasional deep sighs. I lose track of time in this contented bubble, but even so, my mind races with all the things he said. Suddenly the resentment I’ve been standing on all these years falls out from under my feet. I’m falling through the cracks of a mislaid foundation and Ingram’s here to catch me. Also, he was quite taken by my pizza eating skills.

“So you really did love me all those years ago?”

He slides his arm from my back to cradle my chin. “I never stopped.”

My heart bursts with joy and I crash my lips on his. One does not simply say that to a woman and not expect her to lay it on him. I kiss the dickens out of this man. I kiss him seven ways ‘til Sunday. I love him and he loves me. I’m so glad I didn’t kill him when I had the chance.

“I’m so sorry I told you to kiss my grits.”

He growls and licks his lips. “If your grits are anything like the rest of you, I’ll kiss them all night long.”

And that’s exactly what he does.

I wake up to an achy back and Ingram’s arm around my waist. We must have fallen asleep sometime in the middle of the night while reminiscing about the good ‘ol days in