After a long sleepless night, I woke up to an answer:
Thank you for telling me, I really appreciate it.
Just so you know - could have kissed a girl tonight - but I didn't.
But we did say we were single, so I suppose I will have to live with it.
Which is not too bad, considering. However, coming from the Beautiful Boy I knew, usually so emotive and effusive with language and sharing, this was terribly brusque. I felt relieved, but still sad. Afraid that I’d broken the tenuous magic between us.
I faced the day head-on, trying to trust that all would work out as it should. We shared a few more messages, each one a little lighter and friendlier than the last. By the end of the day, I rushed home to answer his phone call.
He teased me about the Other Boy, calling me names and professing shock at my low moral stance. He carried on about how hot the French girls were and how they just loved his little accent.
And then he asked me out.
Like a schoolboy.
He said ‘I am crazy about you and I love you and I want you in my life and I don’t want you to kiss any more other boys. Won’t you please be my girlfriend?’
I remember vividly how I actually shrieked, like a schoolgirl, and said yes.