“I’m sorry. I don’t know your name or I would have addressed this to you directly. If you have this letter, it means I chickened out and didn’t tell you in person. This is so hard for me to write, but I have to do it because it’s the right thing to do. So here goes nothing. I’m not sure if you remember me, but we spent a night together a year ago.”
Wait a minute.
No.
She must be mistaken. The only person I’ve been with in over a year is the runaway bride, and she looked nothing like this woman.
Are you sure about that? There was something about her you couldn’t put your finger on, remember?
I thought the woman from last night was just a new hire who got missed when I handed out the bonuses. Wasn’t she? I close my eyes and try to recall every detail of the runaway bride from the best night of my life and compare it to what I remember about the redhead from last night. On the surface, they are complete opposites. The bride had been a fully made-up brunette wearing a huge white ball gown, whereas the woman at the party was a freckle-faced redhead wearing a stained hooded sweatshirt. But something about the tilt of the redhead’s lips when she smiled seems familiar. That, and the way her hips swayed when she walked away.
She looked familiar, but I assumed I’d seen her at work when she interviewed for the position or filling out paperwork. I thought she was an employee. Thinking back on it, though, did she even confirm that when I asked her?
Fuck.
Can it really be?
Is the reason she looked familiar…because she gave me the best night of my life?
I flip through every blurry memory I have from that night, forcing myself to focus on my runaway bride’s smile. We laughed so much that night, it burned her smile into my brain. The redhead from last night was wearing the same smile. At least, she was before Annabelle came and ruined everything.
Holy shit.
It’s her.
I can see it so clearly now. Despite the difference in hair color and the abundance of freckles on her face, she looks the same. Same heart-shaped face, same lush mouth, same button nose. If only I’d had more time to look in her eyes, or if I’d heard her laugh last night, I would never have assumed she was an employee. I would have known she was my runaway Bride.
She’s been looking for me? But then…why didn’t she just tell me who she was?
I groan. She must think I’m such an asshole for not recognizing her. No wonder she gave me the letter instead of telling me why she was there.
“My name is Phoebe Fox,”
Phoebe Fox. That’s an adorable name. It suits her much better thanBridedoes. Even if she was an especially beautiful bride.
“and we met at the bar in the Hotel Westborough on what should have been my wedding night. You might recall I was wearing a wedding dress?”
I chuckle. Yeah, I definitely remember the dress. It was huge and puffy and had approximately a million layers of fluffy material. I’m not positive, but I have a fuzzy memory of helping her hold it so she could go to the bathroom. Not something one would normally do with a one-night stand, I’m sure, but that night it seemed normal for me to help her with whatever she needed.
“You were in a Santa Claus suit and I’m guessing you’d just finished working for the evening at one of the parties held at the hotel that evening. We sat together and had several drinks before leaving the bar. The rest of the evening is a little spotty (probably thanks to the many excellent margaritas I drank), but I remember at the end of it all, we went to your hotel room and we slept together.”
I grin.Yes, we did.Several times, in fact. I can’t wipe the grin from my face. Fuck, that was a great night.
“I left early the next morning while you were still asleep, and I’m sure you noticed I took your jacket. Sorry about that. I couldn’t exactly wander around the hotel in a half-buttoned wedding dress, and wasn’t ready to be arrested for attempting to do it in only my underwear. I still have it if you need it back. I had it dry-cleaned and everything.”
I knew it! Initially, I had briefly entertained the notion that I simply lost the jacket, but the idea of the runaway bride taking it just felt right. I can’t remember much, but I have a strange recollection of it taking a lot of work to get her out of that dress. How on earth would she get it back on by herself? I also recall all that work being so worth it, but that’s beside the point. I can’t imagine she’d have wanted to put it back on by herself in the morning. So yeah, her taking the jacket made sense. I can’t blame her for not wanting to wander around in her underwear.
Jealousy burns in my chest at the mere thought of anyone seeing her half naked. Which is ridiculous, right? I have no right to be jealous of someone else seeing her in her underwear. Except I almost feel like I should be the only one seeing her in that state of undress. But that’s absurd. It was one night.
And yet… I physically shake myself free of that line of thought and turn my attention back to the letter.
“But that’s not the reason I’m writing this letter. I thought about you a few times after I left that morning, but I had so much going on with my relationship ending that I didn’t have the time, or the energy, if I’m being honest, to do anything about it. I’m not sure you would have wanted me to, anyway. If not for the positive pregnancy test I got six weeks later, I doubt I would have tried to track you down at all, regardless of how much fun I had that night. I’m sure you can imagine my surprise when I discovered Santa Claus had knocked me up.”
What? Wait a minute. That doesn’t say what I think it does, does it?
“You can imagine my surprise when I discovered Santa Claus had knocked me up.”
I let the stack of papers fall from my fingers and lower myself to the floor in a daze. A positive pregnancy test led her to find me. She said Santa Claus had knocked her up.
