𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚛, 𝙻𝚊𝚠𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎

𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚛, 𝙻𝚊𝚠𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 ; 𝟼 ; 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙿𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚕𝚎𝚢 𝙿𝚕𝚊𝚗

𝙳𝚎𝚊𝚛, 𝙻𝚊𝚠𝚛𝚎𝚗𝚌𝚎 ; 𝟼 ; 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝙿𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚕𝚎𝚢 𝙿𝚕𝚊𝚗

Dear, Lawrence                         November 22, 1887

     I still can't believe it, Darling. It's been a whole day and a half of nonsense and the only moment I can wrap my head around is that I slept next to you. I slept so soundly too. Your dress was so silky and it was riding up so your smooth skin was against me. Your hair smelt of Tea and Orange peels, and the skin on your neck felt so soft. I almost, though I hate to admit such an outrageous thing, wanted to kiss you again. It seems to be a pattern ever since I got back. It's weird, knowing you so well without knowing you at all. I'm stuck. I must know you.
     It makes me think I never really got over my crush on you, but merely covered it with an infatuation with Presley. One that I knew I never wanted.
     Because maybe I wanted you.
     I know there was a time when I didn't, when I looked at you and didn't care for the drama of a woman. Yet, as I got older, and your hair got longer, hips wider, smile more desperate. I began feeling if, feeling the same thing I know you felt for me.
     Sometimes I wonder what my life would be like if I didn't deny you that day two years ago, if I hadn't despised your advances because of my own prejudice. If I hadn't chosen Presley the day before.
     I guess me leaving for a few months made me realize how much I missed and cared for you. Some nights it's just in me though, the need to go and hold you. I don't know why but I've said it before, I'm so protective over you, and just holding you makes it feel better. So I guess me laying next to you helped both of us. I suppose we should do it more often.

     I also finally got to spend more time with Avery. I sat in his bed, laughing about my trip and how he must come with me to the next. We ate, we took a walk, it was nice. It's nice that your family is just like my own. I hope Columbia and dad are that way for all of you too.

Yours truly, Tate

𝙸𝙸𝙸𝙸𝙸

December 28, 1885

     I sat, my arms crossed above my chest, legs pulled in close, the candle too small of a fire to warm my cold body.
     It had rained earlier that day, when we were walking to the railroad tracks. My dress was still partially wet, teaching me a lesson about respecting the need for an umbrella.
     He sat next to me, his arm around my waist while his other held a small candle close by. He never touches me, but when we're at the railroad tracks it changes. He begins to talk to me.
     Whenever we're with Avery he ignores me, my family he tolerates me, but just us I finally get to see him.
     "He explained his entire invention to me as if I knew anything about the steam engines in London. I'm an engineer, not an expert on steam engines. He should ask you, you were always good with science." He finishes, explaining his hour long conversation with one of his business associates.
     "science isn't real yet, Tate. I know there's something we haven't found, that's why I prefer to write it."
     He laughs, "not read it though?"
     I smirk, "reading isn't fun without romance!"

     He rolls his eyes, finally turning to look at me too. Our eyes connect, his light blue with strands of hair interrupting his sight line, while mine, stares at his in unison.
     "Your eyes are that of amber, Lavender." He says, softly, as if he didn't want to hurt me with his words.
     My heart begins to beat faster, his deep voice sparking anxiety. I wasn't close to him, I couldn't be when I was this in love, this infatuated.
     I grab his hand, lifting it up to feel my heart on my chest, "Feel that?" I ask, letting out a nervous laugh.
     "Oh wow.." he mumbles, his eyebrows furrowing in concern, "Why? What's wrong?" He asks lightly, his eyes shifting between my chest, lips, and eyes.
     The world went quiet for a second, the rain on the top of the train cart finally being tuned out by my ears. His eyes, full of concern got softer by the minute, his hand losing its stiffness and becoming loser, nearing closer and closer to my chest, although it was obvious it was not purposeful. My heart kept pounding, his face close to mine and his other hand placing the candle on the cushions behind us.
     "Tate?" I ask, barely able to spill the words out of my mouth.
     I knew today would be the day I told him, but I didn't think he would seem this interested, this unopposed to touching me.
     "yes?" he responds.
      I just wanted to know I was awake.
     I swallow, lifting my hand up to the back of his neck.
     "What-?" He begins, trying to let out a nervous laugh, but before he can I already decided my fate.
     I needed to try or I needed rejection. I needed a reason to get over him, to remove his hold over me.
      So, I begin to lean in, my eyes closing and his lips only centimeters from my own. I couldn't think, my nerves running wild through my head. It felt like forever. The time I spent between leaning in and feeling it, his hand that was feeling my heartbeat vigorously push me away.