“Who’s here? Is it a murderer?” Beck, Rylee’s husband, asks while stepping down the stairs, wearing nothing but a pair of sweats . . . and holding a pillow in front of his crotch.
Oh Jesus.
“You were concerned it’s a murderer and yet you sent your wife to answer the door?” Rylee asks.
He glances down at his crotch and then back up at her. “I know it can look intimidating, but it’s not much of a weapon, especially when scared. You had a better chance at fighting off death with your feminine claws.”
Rylee looks at me and says, “You’re interrupting our sex party. I’m doing research and we don’t have much time to conduct said research since we have a lot to get through. I need him hard and ready for all of it before the triplets return tomorrow morning.”
“I’m hard and ready now,” Beck says, inching back up the stairs.
“Your penis can wait,” I say over my shoulder and hold up the envelope again. “Rylee, did you fill out an application for me?”
“No, I didn’t, and how dare you accuse me.”
The stairs squeak behind us, and I glance over at Beck who looks incredibly guilty.
I whip back around to Rylee and say, “Did Beck fill it out for you?”
Her lips twist to the side and the stairs squeak again.
“Beck, don’t you dare move.”
He clears his throat. “I’m an innocent bystander.”
“Beck . . .”
He crumbles fast and says, “She promised me a blow job accompanied by her vibrator against my balls . . . I . . . I’m weak, Ruth. Her mouth is amazing.”
“Thank you.” Rylee winks.
“Unbelievable. You had your husband fill out the form thinking you wouldn’t get caught?”
“No, I knew I’d get caught, but I can honestly say I didn’t fill it out. So there.”
I press my hand to my forehead and sink down in one of her chairs, sitting on a Build-A-Bear R2D2, the beep, beep, boop it makes muffled by my rear end. “I didn’t want to participate.”
“And you didn’t want to expand your business either, and now look at you. You hired three more employees, and you’re purchasing Mrs. Burberry’s old sewing shop to make a dream come true. All because of me. Your nagging, meddling friend.”
Yes, she might be right when it comes to my business. Last week was monumental for me in expanding the Snow Roast brand. I put out an ad for help at Snow Roast and within the first day, I had fifteen applications, Beck being one them. Now that the triplets are in preschool, it has freed up some time when he’s not working at the gallery. He was the perfect candidate to hire for the morning shift with the occasional night, especially since his main reason for applying was to get out of the house and be social with the town, something he very much enjoys. Easy hire. Rounding out the other two positions, I hired Darcy, a recent empty nester, and Josie, who Ren, Griffin’s girlfriend, recommended. Josie is a recent graduate from high school and is taking online college courses.
I couldn’t be happier about the new hires, especially since they all came with welcoming personalities and have proven to be fast learners. We started training three days ago and they already have the drink orders down.
The goal is to have them take care of Snow Roast while I renovate Piccadilly Parlor.
And yes, Rylee gave me the push I needed, even though I didn’t think I was ready . . . even though it was merely a dream.
But this . . . Summer of Love, that’s stepping over the line of meddling best friend. That’s putting my heart on the line, which is terrifying.
“I have too much happening right now, so the last thing I need is to be sucked into some pen pal love thing.”
“Have you even opened the letter?”
“No.”
The stairs creak again and Beck clears his throat. “Uh, this seems like something you two can talk about amongst yourselves. I’ll just, uh, head back upstairs.”
“No jerking off,” Rylee says, pointing her finger at Beck. “I’m not kidding, this research is vital.”
Beck pushes his hand through his hair and says, “Not to be a dick, Ruth, since you’re my boss and all, but be quick. Please.”
“Yeah, as your boss, I’m erasing this entire interaction from my memory.”
“That’s probably the best idea.” With that, he heads up the stairs, leaving me alone with Rylee, who walks right up to me, snatches the letter from my hand, and opens it.
Her eyes quickly scan the paper and then she looks at me from over the blue paper and smiles. “This is more perfect than I ever expected.”
“What?” I ask. “Does it have the name of the person I’m matched with?”
She shakes her head. “No, it’s a letter from your pen pal.”
“Seriously?” I sit taller. “What does it say?”
She giggles and sits across from me on the coffee table. “This is amazing.”
“Rylee . . . who is it?”
“It’s part of the rules not to reveal yourself. It’s signed by your secret pen pal. But oh my God, does the letter give away who wrote it.”
“Is it Walter?”
“The Uber driver?” Rylee shakes her head. “No, so much better.”
Growing frustrated, I snatch the letter from her hand and read it out loud.
“Dear Pen Pal. I want to start this letter by saying I’m really excited to get another shot at finding love. Seems so hard in such a small town.” I glance up at Rylee, my heart skipping a beat while she clasps her hands together. “When I read the write-up Mrs. Davenport provided about you, I knew it was going to be a great match. Business owner, loves spaghetti, and can play a mean game of Battleship. That’s my kind of girl.”
Oh God. I pause and Rylee nudges me with her foot. “Keep reading.”
“But I must ask, do you twirl your spaghetti or do you cut it? This is vital information I need to know because my three brothers . . .”
My words trail off and Rylee squeals, “Oh my God, you were matched with Brig.”
I shake my head, dropping the letter to my lap. “There are other people with three brothers.”
“Yeah, but would they say something like ‘having another shot at love’?”
No . . . no, they wouldn’t. That’s a Brig thing to say. I’ve actually heard him say something very similar to that in the coffee house . . . several times. There’s no denying his need to find love; the whole town knows about it.
The town knows about “the curse.”
They know about Brig’s need to break that curse.
And they know all about Brig’s failed attempts to break it.
“Finish reading it,” Rylee encourages.
I cup my stomach. All the saliva dries in my mouth. “I’m too nauseous.” This isn’t good. You can’t match pen pals in a small town. There’s no guess work. This is so wrong.
She snags the letter from my lap, the blue letter. Of course, Brig would use special paper to write his pen pal; that should have been clue number one. Clue number two should have been the giddy look on Rylee’s face. Clue number three—and I’m sort of ashamed to admit this—is his handwriting. I would know that handwriting anywhere. It’s cursive—something you don’t see from people our age—and meticulous. I’ve seen his handwriting a few times while he’s hung out and worked at the coffee house. I’ve always admired how he wrote in cursive and—embarrassingly—have wondered what my name would look like scrolled by his hand.
“I’ll read the rest of it,” Rylee announces before clearing her throat. “This is vital information I need to know because my three brothers all cut theirs like barbarians. Hate to admit it, but this could be a make-or-break for our relationship. So let me know . . . twirler or cutter? Sincerely, Your Secret Pen Pal. P.S. I don’t know how to do this, so don’t judge me on this lame letter. I promise I have more game than this.” Rylee clutches the letter to her chest and says, “Oh my God, he’s adorable. I don’t think I could be happier about my decision to medd
le. Let’s write him back.”
“What?” I feel my eyes widen. “Are you insane? I’m not writing him back.” I point my finger at her and say, “And you better not write him back either. I’m not kidding, Rylee.”
“How could you not write him back?”
“Uh, easily. Just don’t write anything.”
“And then leave him hanging, wondering if he came on too weird with his spaghetti question? You know that’s going to make him question everything about his dating approach. He’s already sensitive when it comes to dating, so you not writing him back will possibly break him.”
Oh God. She’s right.
My mind quickly falls to Brig. The dejected look on his face, the depressed conversation he’d have with one of his brothers. I’ve overheard many of them.
Dumped after two dates.
Tourists only want sex, never a relationship.
Catfished by the town’s Uber driver.
Time and time again, I’ve heard him pour his heart out about wanting to find true love.
The perfect girl.
His one and only.
A girl he can spoil and get lost in.
Would this be another one of those situations? Most likely, but the difference is, I’d be the one causing the pain.
Rylee shakes my knee. “You’ve had a thing for Brig Knightly since middle school.”
“Yeah, and he’s never even noticed me.”
“He calls you ‘Ruthie.’ I think he’s the only one who does that.”
Besides my parents.
“He’s just being nice. You should have been there when we were looking at Mrs. Burberry’s store. It was so awkward. He looked pained to be there with me.”
“Maybe because you only said two words to him.” She shakes me again. “This is your chance, Ruth. This is your chance for him to finally get to know you, and it’s so perfect because you’re going to be work neighbors too. He’s going to be surrounded by you, so he’s bound to notice.”
“He doesn’t see me like that.”
“Or maybe you don’t allow him to see you like that. Ever think of it that way? You’re hiding yourself from him. You hide behind friends, behind the counter, and you never let him get to know you. You’ve lived in the same town for so long, and yet, you’ve maybe had a handful of conversations with the man. You’ve just . . . observed from a distance and slowly fallen head over heels in love with him.”
“I’m not in love with him.” I can’t be.
She sets the letter on my lap. “Maybe. Maybe not. But you know him well enough to know you can’t let his letter go unanswered. He’d be devastated. Is that what you want? To make the man even more paranoid than he is?”
“No,” I say softly, my stomach twisting in knots while doubt and anxiety creep up the back of my neck. “I don’t ever want to make him doubt himself.” I glance up at Rylee, feeling the backs of my eyes tingle with tears. “But . . . what if he doesn’t like me?”
“What if he does and he doesn’t know it yet?” Rylee leans forward taking both my hands in hers. “Wouldn’t you rather find out than just sit back always wondering what if? This is your moment, Ruth. This is your time to make something of everything you’ve ever wanted. Seize it. I know it’s what your parents would have wanted.”
My teeth pull my bottom lip into my mouth while the first wave of tears flash down my cheeks.
“I’m scared.” I wipe away a tear. “It might sound stupid, but I’m really scared. I’m not that kind of girl, who just takes what she wants.”
“I know, sweetie. It’s one of the reasons I love you, because you’re sweet, loving, caring, and you’re always thinking of others first. But now, it’s time to think about you. You can do this, and I’ll hold your hand every step of the way.”
“And what happens when he doesn’t want me?”
“What happens when he does, and you live happily ever after?”
“That’s your author heart speaking.”
She shakes her head, forcing me to look her in the eyes. “That’s your best friend talking.”
From upstairs, Beck calls out, “Is Ruth still here? I’m . . . uh . . . really aroused.”
Rylee and I both snort and chuckle. I stand, keeping Brig’s letter close to my chest while Rylee stands as well.
“Don’t want my husband to die from arousal.” Growing serious, she asks, “Are you going to write him back?”
Even though it’s scary and I’m terrified he might not want me to be his pen pal—something I’d find out the hard way—I slowly nod. “I’ll write him back.”
“Good.” She tips my chin up. “This could be the start of something great, Ruth. Just keep reminding yourself that when doubt starts to creep in. When fear takes hold of your heart and you stumble, just remember: you’ll never develop your dreams into a reality without trying. You have to try first.” Pulling me into a hug, she whispers, “I’m proud of you, Ruth. This might be scary, but deep in my bones, I know there is something between you two, it just hasn’t surfaced yet.” Pulling away, she smiles and calls out to Beck, “Heading up, handsome. Legs spread, hands behind your head.” She winks at me and then takes off toward her stairs.
I quickly let myself out, so I don’t have to be witness to an aroused Beck, legs spread, hands behind his head.
On the walk back to the coffee house, I stuff Brig’s letter in my back pocket and think about what Rylee said.
You’ll never know unless you try.
It’s the same wise advice my dad would have given me if he were still alive. He would have said it about Piccadilly Parlor and he would have said it about Brig too.
A small smile pulls at the corner of my mouth as I consider what my parents would have thought if they knew I was infatuated with the youngest Knightly boy. Fans of the Knightlys, they often asked me if I thought one of them was cute, and I denied it. I denied it so hard, being the shy teenager I was. Pretty sure they would have been thrilled and would have played matchmaker like Rylee and—
“Hey Ruthie,” that deep voice I’ve grown to adore says, coming up next to me.
Brig.
Brig, wearing jeans and a white T-shirt, sunglasses blocking his beautiful eyes. I didn’t tell Rylee, mind you, she probably knows, but I love when Brig calls me Ruthie. And every time I see him, it feels like the first time—my heart stumbles, my words escape me, and my lungs constrict, squeezing all the air out of them, leaving me breathless, needy, and awkward.
And then my mind quickly goes to his letter in my back pocket. Thank God I folded it, because the blue paper would have been a total giveaway.
“Uh, hey Brig,” I say, finding my voice.
“Headed to Snow Roast?”
I nod.
“Awesome, me too.” He rubs his stomach. “I could really use some coffee cake right now. Mind if I walk with you?”
My mouth turns into dust as it goes dry. “Sure,” I answer, barely squeaking out a response.
Get it together, Ruth. He’s just a man.
But a man who smells like absolute heaven.
A man I’ve pined after for so many years.
A man I’ve begged and pleaded to look at me just once other than when he’s ordering coffee.
But he’s here now . . . talking to you.
Rylee’s words come floating back to me. Seize the moment.
Pushing past the fear that’s bubbling up in my stomach, I say, “Thanks for showing me Mrs. Burberry’s space. Didn’t know if you heard, but I put an offer in.”
“I heard,” he says, and I can hear the smile in his voice. “Rogan told me. We’re going to be neighbors.” He bumps my shoulder with his and I nearly fall flat on the sidewalk.
The uncontrollable fangirl in me, who has admired Brig for so many years, mentally squeals, “I’m never washing my shoulder . . . ever.”
“Yeah.” I swallow hard. “Hope you don’t mind the sound of construction for a bit.”
“Double soundproofing. We’re good, Ru
thie. But I do have a question.”
I raise my head ever so slightly to look at him. The smile playing at his lips causes my entire stomach to somersault in on itself.
“What’s that?”
“Do I get neighbor rights?”
“What uh . . . what are neighbor rights?” I ask, a twitch to my nose.
“Free tea sandwiches. Heard those cucumber things on pumpernickel bread are fucking killer.”
I chuckle and catch a lift of Brig’s brows and then his smile grows wider, making him infinitely more attractive. If that’s even possible.
Pushing past the rapid beat of my heart that seems to want to clog up my throat, I say, “Depends. Do I get free oil changes?” Not that I drive my car anywhere.
“Oh, I can arrange that. Not sure it’s an even trade though. I have quite the appetite.”
“We can arrange something to make up for the deficit.” Could my cheeks flame with embarrassment any more? You would think I’m a teenager, talking to a boy for the first time.
“Free labor is always a good trade-off.” He stretches his arms in front of him and folds his hands outwards. “I’m pretty good with a hammer, even if Reid and Rogan would tell you otherwise. I renovated my garage, small parts at a time, but I still made it into the awe-inspiring building it is today.”
“You did all the renovations?” I ask in awe.
“Not completely by myself. The brothers helped from time to time, especially Rogan.”
“It’s nice to have such a big family.” I mean that to come off as a compliment, but it falls flat.
“My family extends to all of Port Snow. Have your pick at any one of the strapping Knightly men; they’ll be there for you.”
I don’t doubt that. Two things the Knightlys are known for is their love for the town and how much they enjoy helping everyone out. They’ve all had a part in boosting the economy, bringing tourism to our quaint neck of the woods, and ensuring everyone is taken care of, whether it’s being a volunteer fireman, installing a new roof for one of the elders, spending Thanksgiving making pot after pot of soup for those who can’t afford a warm meal, or towing people’s cars for free because they’re a little short on cash for the month. They’re all good men.
That Swoony Feeling Page 4
