We reach Snow Roast and Brig opens the door for me. I give him a curt thank you and then head to the counter where Darcy is helping a customer. I toss on my apron and tie it around my waist just as Brig comes up to the counter and smiles again at me.
“Can I get some coffee cake and a blueberry coffee to go, Ruthie?”
I nod. “Sure thing.”
I move around the small space, making his special coffee I know by heart now and putting a large piece of coffee cake in a to-go bag for him. I hand it to him over the counter and he smiles. “Put it on my tab?”
“Always.”
He nods at me. “Have a good day, neighbor. I’ll see you around.”
“Yup, see ya,” I say awkwardly and turn to the next customer, trying to calm my racing heart.
As Mr. Grenaldi orders a mocha with extra chocolate, I look over his shoulder and catch Brig just before he walks out of Snow Roast, holding the door open for a tourist and giving them a gentle smile. With an easy gait to his step, he walks down Main Street toward his shop, and for the first time in five minutes, I can take a deep breath.
“Did you catch that? Extra chocolate,” Mr. Grenaldi says, waving his wrinkled hand in front of my face.
“What? Oh yes, extra chocolate. I got it.” I give him a soft smile and then turn away, my mind elsewhere while I make Mr. Grenaldi’s drink.
* * *
Rylee: Did you write him back yet?
Ruth: Currently staring at a blank piece of paper.
Rylee: What color is the paper?
Ruth: . . . white.
Rylee: You have to do better than that. Spray it with perfume. Use lipstick and kiss the bottom of it.
Ruth: Does it seem like I’m that girl?
Rylee: No, but you need to do something to fancy it up. Do you have any other paper?
Ruth: I have shopping list paper with a basket of apples in the top left corner.
Rylee: Good God, no.
Ruth: Then I have nothing.
Rylee: Do the lipstick then.
Ruth: I’m not doing the lipstick.
Rylee: Ruuuuuuuuuth, don’t be boring. Have fun with this. Think about it. You can say anything in that letter you want. He has no idea it’s you. Show him your true personality, the fun-loving girl others outside of your inner circle don’t see.
Ruth: Just let me do my thing. You already intervened enough.
Rylee: At least use a colored pen.
Ruth: Go back to arousing your husband.
Rylee: I don’t think he can get it up for the rest of the night.
Rylee: Wait, he told me he can and to not emasculate him.
Ruth: You guys are something special. Good night.
Rylee: Use the perfume!
Chapter Five
BRIG
“I got a letter,” I yell, coming through the back entrance of The Lobster Landing, my family-owned business. Established when I was still a sperm in the fruit of my father’s loins, it’s become the tourism headquarters of Port Snow.
Need lobster apparel? We have it.
Looking for fudge? We’re known for it.
Have a craving for a baked good? Come to our bakery case and indulge.
At the end of Main Street, it’s the neighbor to Reid’s new restaurant, Knight and Port, that he runs with his girl, Eve, and his best friend, Eric. It’s one of my favorite places to go for lunch because they have a baked bean sandwich that haunts me in my dreams. It’s all I can think about when I’m within its vicinity.
And because my family is smart, they use a lot of the baked goods from The Lobster Landing at the restaurant to promote crossover.
Standing at the counter, wrapping up cubes of fudge that we sell online—expanding distribution has been one of Griffin’s goals ever since he took over the responsibilities of running The Lobster Landing—Griffin looks up with a quirk in his brow. “A letter?”
Ren, his girlfriend, who is an algebra teacher, steps up next to him and helps wrap fudge. “Is that for the Summer of Love?”
“Yes.” I sit at one of the counter-height stools and put the letter flat on the metal counter. “It was delivered to me today by one of Mrs. Davenport’s minions.”
“How does that work exactly?” Ren asks. “You don’t give each other names, right? How do they know who to deliver it to?”
“There’s a box in the post office just for Summer of Love participants. We each have a number ID and we write it on the envelope. They match up the ID with the person and deliver it. Pretty simple.”
“Wow, that Mrs. Davenport is a clever one,” Griff says. “Too bad there was no Summer of Love when you came to town; we could have written each other love letters.”
“There’s no way you would have done it, not with how stubborn you were. I would have been matched with Jake from Jake’s Cakes. Instead of wrapping fudge on my summer break, I’d be in a food truck, taking crab cake orders next to a hunky man.”
“Are you saying I’m not hunky?” Griffin asks with an offended smile.
“You have relationship flab,” I cut in, knowing damn well Griffin is going to freak out from the comment.
“No, I fucking don’t,” he snaps only to lift his white Lobster Landing shirt and flash his abs. “Right, babe?”
Ren playfully pokes his flat stomach and then shrugs. “I don’t know, I think there might be a light layer of love there.”
“Bullshit.”
Ren and I both laugh, as Griffin mutters displeasure at our company under his breath.
“Are you going to open the letter?” Ren asks, nodding toward the envelope.
“I’m nervous. What if she didn’t like my first letter?”
“If she didn’t like it, she wouldn’t have written back,” Griffin says, unfolding a shipping box and carefully putting tissue paper in it. He’s all about the details.
“He has a point.” Ren helps him with the fudge, neatly stacking it. “Do you have any idea who it might be?”
I shake my head. “Not a clue. The information I got about her wasn’t very specific and when I asked Mrs. Davenport about the match, all she did was smile and say: ‘I’ve been wanting to get you two together for years.’ For . . . years. I mean, that’s a lot of pressure. What if it doesn’t work out?”
“Then it doesn’t work out, and you move on,” Griffin says.
“Easy for you to say.” I gesture toward Ren. “You already found your post-curse love.” I tap the unopened envelope and say, “I don’t think it’s really fair that I’m the one who is shit out of luck when it comes to breaking the curse. I wasn’t the one being a dick. I was actually nice to the old hag. If anyone should still be single, it should be Rogan and Reid. They were the ones that brought on the curse. I was an innocent bystander.”
“You broke her table,” Griffin points out.
“Not on purpose. It’s not like I sought out to break a palm reader’s table. I was drunk and fell.”
“Still, you’re the one she touched.”
“What? Do you think direct contact made the curse worse for me? Because I’ve taken that into consideration when going through all the reasons why I’m still single.”
Ren snorts to herself and we both look at her. “Sorry, it’s just hard to sit here and listen to you two talk about the curse with a straight face.”
Shockingly, she doesn’t believe in the curse. No one does. I point to my chest. “Am I the only one who knows what happened was real?”
“I think so,” Griffin says.
“Bullshit.” I call him out. “You believed in it for a while. You’re only making fun of it now because you have Ren.”
What happened to Griffin is why I believed in the curse. When we left for New Orleans, he was happily married to Claire, his high school sweetheart, and then three days later, after we were verbally assaulted by a haggard witch, Claire passed away suddenly from a heart condition no one was aware of. To say Griffin was devastated is an understatement. He lost his soul mate. His life.
And we lost a beautiful woman we all loved like a sister. Her sudden death rocked our whole family. And as we mourned, even though we didn’t want to consider it, every Knightly man thought about what happened in New Orleans. And we wondered. We wondered just how real it was. And for that reason, Griffin didn’t date—ever—until Ren came along and opened his heart again. Although, it took him a long time to give in to being with her. Loving her.
“I love you, Griff, but you so believed in the curse; don’t even try to pretend.”
He shrugs, but Ren and I both know the truth.
“Either way,” I say, “I shouldn’t be the one still being punished four years later. This is ridiculous.”
“Then stop bitching about it and open the damn letter,” Griffin says. “The love of your life might have written you a note, but you’re so hyped up on the damn curse that you’re forgetting what’s important: a girl is showing interest. Take it, man.”
Oh damn, he’s right.
Then again, Griffin is always right.
He’s the annoying older brother who’s perfect at everything he does, follows in Dad’s footsteps, makes everyone proud, and is reliable as fuck.
It’s also why I love him so much.
Turning the envelope over, I tear open the sealed flap and pull out the white piece of paper.
Huh, just white?
I admit that I wish the letter was scrolled across some kind of romantic stationery, but then again, maybe she hasn’t had time to get any.
I open the letter and immediately see a pair of red, full lips at the bottom.
“Fuck . . .” I sigh, taking in the lipstick print.
“What?” Ren asks, standing on her toes to see the letter.
I turn it around for them to see how lucky I am. “She kissed it with lipstick at the bottom.”
“Would you look at that.” Ren smiles. “That’s a nice touch, and that also means she’s very interested. Someone who didn’t like your letter wouldn’t have kissed the bottom of it.”
“But do you think this means she’s . . . loose?” I ask. “I mean, I like a frisky woman, but I also don’t want someone who’s ready to throw down after one letter. Trust me, I didn’t wax poetic or anything. I asked her about spaghetti.”
“Wow, you sure know how to get a girl’s gears grinding,” Griffin says, just as Ren swats him in the stomach.
“Be nice to your brother. Clearly he’s a hot mess when it comes to women.”
“Hey, no. I’m not a hot mess. Because of me and my romantic ways, all my brothers have significant others right now. Reid especially. He was lost without me when it came to making up with Eve. I’m a goddamn sorcerer of love . . .”
For other people.
“Let me rephrase that.” Ren clears her throat. “You’re a hot mess when it comes to your own relationships.”
“Now that, I’ll accept.”
Griffin opens another shipping box and says, “Stop stalling and read the letter out loud.”
“Yes, please read it to us,” Ren says, clasping her hands together.
“Okay, but you have to promise you’re not going to tell Reid and Rogan. This is a privilege and I don’t want it to be mocked in our sibling group text.”
“I have better things to do with my life than mock you through text, Brig.” He drops three orange creamsicle fudge squares in the box and ads a Lobster Landing sticker at the top before closing it.
I think we can all agree that’s a fucking lie, but whatever. I’m too excited to care right now.
Clearing my throat, I say, “Dear Secret Pen Pal—”
“Oh God, it’s already too cute,” Ren says.
“Can you refrain from interrupting?” I ask in a teasing tone.
“Sorry, proceed,” she replies with a smile.
“Dear Secret Pen Pal. I’ll be honest, I was quite surprised to receive your letter since I didn’t apply to be in the Summer of Love. My meddling friend filled out an application for me, but I can’t say that I’m not happy about it because I am. I’m very happy she intervened.” I look at both Ren and Griffin and say, “I have butterflies in my stomach.”
Ren clasps her hands together. “Oh my God, I’m dying already. How cute is she? I like how upfront she is.”
“Me too. I like her a lot.”
“You’ve read three sentences,” Griffin says, cutting in. “Why don’t you finish the letter before you start declaring a statement of infatuation?”
He’s cranky.
Sheesh.
Turning back to the letter, I continue, “You see, I’ve been unlucky in love as well, but I think it’s because I haven’t put myself out there. Too scared to get hurt. Too scared to lose someone else in my life. But even though it’s terrifying, I think I’m ready to take that first step to something new. Please excuse me if I’m skittish, or come off as hesitant. It’s not because I’m not interested, it’s because I’m scared. All that I ask is you give me time, we don’t rush this communication, and you get to know me on a deeper level through this anonymity. Then maybe, one day, when the time is right, we could go out on a real date. That’s if . . . you want to ask me out. Sincerely, Your Secret Pen Pal. P.S. I twirl my spaghetti like any other decent human out there.” I put the letter down and take a deep breath. “Wow.”
“I mean, that was a pretty good first letter,” Griff says, finishing wrapping up a block of fudge. “She’s basically telling you she wasn’t ready to step outside of her comfort zone, but she’s willing to, for you, for this experiment. That’s huge, man.”
“You think?” I ask, feeling my heart rate accelerate, my excitement spiking. “I didn’t write much in my letter to her, but her response makes me wonder if I should take it up a notch.”
“Yes. You need to,” Ren says, helping Griffin hold the package of fudge together and taping it. “It seems like she’s genuinely invested in this program. I mean spaghetti twirling is a good icebreaker, but I think she’s looking for something with more substance.”
I nod, my mind whirling with possibilities. Excitement builds. Ideas are born and I realize . . . this might very well be it.
This might be my true chance at finding the love of my life.
“I think I’ve spent my entire life building to this moment,” I say in all seriousness. “All the Lovemark movies I’ve watched over the years, the books I’ve read, the moments I’ve helped create for my siblings, it’s all been practice for this moment, for when I finally claim a girl of my own. I was made to woo, and damn it, I’m going to fucking woo.” I stand from the stool and fold up the letter. “I’m going to woo this girl so hard.”
“But what if she’s not the girl for you?” Griff asks, playing the devil’s advocate. My dad did the same thing when we were younger.
“Impossible,” I say, because I’m still reeling from what Mrs. Davenport said about us. I’ve been wanting to get you two together for years. That has to mean that I’ve known her for years, or we’ve at least run in similar circles for Mrs. Davenport to notice us . . . together. Doesn’t it? “I can feel the cosmic activity swirling around me. Just like four years ago when that ghastly hag cursed me with broken love. Yeah, it’s about to be fixed. I need to go back to my place and think up some ideas. The Summer of Love is upon us, and I’ll be damned if this doesn’t work out for me.”
“Go get her,” Ren says as I leave out the back door, with pep in my step.
She wants honesty and substance? Well look out, Secret Pen Pal, things are about to get real.
* * *
Reid: So . . . Brig thinks he’s going to break the curse this summer.
Griffin: Dude, I told you not to say anything.
Brig: How DARE you, Griffin? I trusted you.
Rogan: What’s happening? Is this about the Summer of Love?
Reid: Brig has another chance for love on the line. Let’s hope he doesn’t fuck it up like the other ones.
Brig: I didn’t fuck things up. They just didn’t . . . pan out the way I
hoped.
Griffin: This seems promising.
Brig: Thank you, Griff.
Reid: Just as promising as that tourist, what was her name . . . Melinda?
Brig: Not even close. It was Yamina. And I didn’t fuck that up. She just, well, she didn’t like all the love I was giving her.
Reid: You suffocated her and sent her fleeing for Connecticut.
Griffin: Why can’t I place Yamina?
Rogan: Pretty sure it was right before he got that blowup doll to practice on.
Brig: THERE WAS NO BLOWUP DOLL. REID WAS DRUNK AND MADE THAT UP.
Reid: Best rumor I’ve ever spread *chuckles*
Griffin: Now the blowup doll I remember. Went to town on that thing.
Reid: Called her Sam. Short blonde hair, glittery makeup. Claimed she loved to read books and was a mom about town looking for a fling. There was an entire backstory.
Brig: Huh . . . that does sound like me. Maybe I was the one who was drunk.
Griffin: GUFFAW!
Rogan: ^^^ Perfect timing.
Reid: Spot on, man.
Jen: My kids play with Sam in the basement, pretending she’s the older sister. They’re always asking why she won’t shut her mouth. Told her that’s what happens when you offer your body for pleasure . . . perma-codfish mouth.
Griffin: What?
Rogan: Uhhh . . . that’s disturbing.
Reid: Do they make her wear a bra?
Brig: ^^^ Curious about the bra thing.
Jen: One of Mom’s breastfeeding bras from twenty-five years ago. Some stains.
Griffin: Fuck *runs to bathroom*
Rogan: I can’t unsee that.
Reid: That’s why you’re a witch, Jen, destroying blowup dolls for all men.
Brig: Am I the only one interested in catching this broad with her shirt off?
Griffin: *still in bathroom*
Rogan: Dude, you seriously need help.
Reid: ^^^ I’ll pay for the therapy
Jen: I think our work here is done, Brig. Good luck with love.
Brig: Thanks, Jen. Love you, sis.
That Swoony Feeling Page 5
