“Postmark?”
“Boston. If whoever sent it doesn’t get an answer, he’ll just have to show up here to see what’s wrong.”
“He? How do you know it’s a he?”
Lauren held out the letter. “Look at the handwriting. It’s heavy. And messy. Has to be a he.”
Beth donned her imagination-at-work look. “A he. Hmm, I smell possibilities in this one. You’ve already got a guy, so forget you. Let’s concentrate on me. Suppose, just suppose, some fellow was given the name of a girl he was told worked here. A blind-date kind of thing. Only either he got the girl’s name screwed up or the friend who set him up was playing a joke.”
“Why would a guywriteto set up a blind date?”
“Maybe he’s too shy to call. Or he’s simply taking a new approach. A new approach—that’s it.” She eyed Lauren through a playful squint. “Not all that different from sitting on a bench for two days, or sitting on it for hours a third day just reading.”
“Point taken,” Lauren admitted dryly. “I suppose this guy’s gorgeous and witty and bright.”
“Naturally.”
“Then why does his handwriting look like a thug’s?”
“It’s not like a thug’s. It’s … creative.”
“Ahh. Then whatever is inside this envelope,” Lauren said, waving it, “must be equally as creative.”
“I’m sure it is.” Beth’s voice dropped conspiratorially. “Let’s open it.”
“We can’t do that, Beth. It’s not addressed to us.”
“It’s addressed to our shop.”
“And what if your gorgeous guy comes in to collect the letters he’s incorrectly addressed? He’ll be mortified.”
“He’ll be so taken with me that he won’t have time to be mortified. Besides, we can say we threw the letters out. So what harm is there in opening them first? Do you have the other one?”
“Yes, but, Beth, I don’t think this is a great idea.”
“Don’t think.” Snatching the gray envelope from Lauren’s hand, Beth quickly opened it. She removed a sheet of matching stationery, unfolded it, then turned it over, puzzled. “Blank. There’s nothing on it.”
Lauren, too, stared at the blank sheet. “Maybe he lost his nerve the second time around.”
“Where’s the first?”
Lauren fished the envelope from a drawer in the desk and, her own curiosity piqued, opened it. “The same. The paper is blank. What’s going on here, Beth?”
“Who knows?” Beth continued the game, but her enthusiasm was waning. “Maybe his tactic is to be mysterious for a while.”
“So we have to wait for the next installment to find out who the mad letter writer is?”
Beth shrugged. “Looks that way.” She headed for the front of the store, leaving Lauren to dispose of the blank love letters as she saw fit. For some reason Lauren herself didn’t understand, she folded both sheets back into their envelopes and tucked the envelopes into the drawer.
This activity had provided only a temporary respite for Lauren, as did most of work that day. Unfortunately, by the time she knew that Matt had landed and been swallowed up in his own life again, she could no longer free herself of those other, more ominous thoughts.
“How’d you like a roommate for a night or two?” she asked Beth when they were getting ready to close the shop. She’d tried to sound nonchalant, but the gesture was lost on Beth, who knew better.
“I’d love it, Lauren. You know that. You’re welcome to stay at my place whenever you want.”
“I know you have a date—”
“No, I don’t.”
