He crossed his study to the corner near the dark floor-to-ceiling bookcases, lit the table lamp, dropped into a plush overstuffed chair, placed the stack of papers on the side table, and picked up the first page.
Scanning the paper, he barked out a laugh.
Dear Nick,
Screw you.
Not Sincerely,
Amelia
P.S. I’m sorry about your mom.
He grinned at young Amelia’s loopy handwriting, punctuated with a snark he’d not known she possessed until meeting her in person.
Time ceased to exist as he traveled back in time through the letters Amelia had written him throughout the years. Hechuckled at her wit and honesty, loving her humor and soaking in every detail she gave about her life.
A black envelope he recognized well hid amongst the stack.
How does she still have this?
The paper inside had worn creases from years of being opened and re-folded, and when he opened the letter, he sat forward.
Hello, Love,
My imagination did not do you justice.
You are beautiful.
Always Yours,
Nick
P.S. Are the other girls at the orphanage taking your food? I’ve included a basket of things for you to keep in your room, just in case.
The words took him back in time to when he’d first laid eyes on Amelia. It was an experience unlike any other to finally put a face to the girl he’d dreamed about. Love at first sight was thought to be a fairytale written in books, but Rennick knew it to be true.
It was strange—the feeling he had that day that had nothing to do with their bond and everything to do with her. Over the years, Finn and Ora called it infatuation that later turned to obsession, and they were right, but there was love, too.
He didn’t give a fuck what anyone else thought. He knew what he felt.
Folding the paper, he slid it carefully into the envelope and dropped it on the stack of already read letters to continue withthe others. Each letter left him hungry for more of her thoughts, and he couldn’t devour them fast enough.
One letter from a few years ago made him stop, his hands squeezing into fists and crinkling the paper. A glutton for punishment, he read it again.
Dear Nick,
I saw you last night. It’s not the first time, but I was afraid to tell you because I didn’t want you to stop coming (not that you read these anyway).
I’m only telling you now to let you know that I liked your hair brown, but I love it blond. What made you want to color it?
How did you color it? Do fae have magic to do it, or do you have hair shops like humans? (I’ve always loved blond hair on men)
I sound pathetic, but I’m lonely here without you.
Wish you were here.
Pathetically Yours,
