I smiled and kissed his cheek. “Like I said, no worries, Dad.”
“Yeah, so you say but it never seems to work out that way.”
I waved as his patrol vehicle took off, then entered the house.
“Snacks,” Ian said, waving a bag of my favorite chips and Mo clutching a bag of his favorite dog biscuits in his mouth, not to mention Roxie enjoying the snacks Ian must have added to her bowl. “Let’s get back to our brainstorming. We have a bank heist to solve.”
I loved that Ian loved solving mysteries as much as I did, and I hurried to the deck with him, ready to snack and solve a mystery.
I glancedat the clock on my nightstand. Two in the morning. Another reason preppers don’t rely on cell phones alone—batteries die, but a good old-fashioned wind-up clock keeps on ticking. And tonight, it reminded me of something I already knew… sleep wasn’t coming.
Not with my thoughts circling back again and again to Aunt Effie’s letters, tucked safely in the library.
I slipped quietly out of bed, careful not to disturb Ian, and padded down the hall. The house felt different at this hour—settled, hushed, as if it belonged only to me. That’s what I lovedabout late nights like this: the peace, the solitude, the quiet stretch of time where nothing demanded my attention and no one needed me.
The soft glow of the library lamp spilled across the room when I switched it on. My books lined the shelves like old friends keeping vigil, and on the desk sat the bundle of envelopes, each one sealed, each one marked with my name in Aunt Effie’s graceful script.
I lowered myself into the armchair, picked one up, and let my fingers trace the letters of my name. Aunt Effie had written these for me, me, specifically. The question was why.
I slid my thumb beneath the flap, the faint tear of paper loud in the silence. For a moment I just sat there, envelope open in my hands, heart thudding.
Whatever secrets Aunt Effie had left behind, it was time to begin uncovering them.
The envelope gave way easily, and I unfolded the several sheets inside. Aunt Effie’s handwriting flowed across the page, steady but with a softness that made me imagine her sitting at her desk, pausing now and then, choosing her words with care.
My dearest Pepper,
If you are reading this, then I have left the telling of certain truths too long to speak them aloud. You know me as your eccentric aunt, fond of her secrets and her stories. But there is one story I have never shared, though it shaped my life more than any other. It is the story of a love I could never claim openly, though it ruled my heart without mercy and the many secrets surrounding it.
I shifted in my chair,the words pulling me deeper.
Max Macgregor wasmy solace and the love of my life. We met when reason said we should turn away, yet every glance, every word, made refusal impossible. I told myself a thousand times that the head must prevail—that duty, family, and circumstance must come first. But love laughs at reason. The heart does not bargain; it only insists.
The ink seemed darkeron the next line, as though she had pressed the pen harder.
It is not a comfortable thing,living with such a contradiction. To feel joy and sorrow in the same breath. To know you are whole only in the presence of another and yet live as though you are apart. I leave this truth with you, Pepper, not to burden you, but because I believe you will understand. You have always lived with your heart wide open, even when it puts you at odds with sense.
I need to tell this, share it so the truth is fully known and understood where the depths of our relationship took us. Let me begin where Max and I met…
And just like that,I was lost.
I leaned back into the chair, the lamplight warm on the page as my eyes moved hungrily over every line. Aunt Effie’s voice rose in my mind with each sentence; her wit, her tenderness, her sly humor threading through the story she was finally ready to tell.
A smile tugged at my lips at one part, then faded into a sigh at another. I turned the page, my fingers lingering over the curve of her letters, as if by touching them I could touch her.
The house was utterly still, but in that quiet, Aunt Effie was here with me, unfolding her love story piece by piece and I couldn’t stop reading.
“I woke and you were gone.”
I looked up to find Ian leaning in the doorway in nothing more than his underwear, hair mussed from sleep, his voice still rough with it.
“I couldn’t sleep,” I admitted.
He crossed the room without another word, gently took the sheet of papers from my hand, and set them on the side table. Then he leaned down, scooped me up as though I weighed nothing, and kissed me slow and sure, enough to make the letter and everything else slip from my mind.
“I know what will tire you out enough to have you sleep,” he murmured against my lips as he carried me toward our bedroom.
Once we reached the bedroom, the door swung shut behind us with a kick of his foot, and Ian’s voice followed with a mock growl, “Mo, get off the bed!”
