Nowthisis charming.
“Welcome!” an older woman says, sitting behind a counter. “Let me know if you’re looking for anything specific.”
“Thank you,” I say, and then hesitate, unable to keep myself from asking. “Isn’t it a little odd for this gift shop to be attached to a bar?”
She tips her head back and laughs. “My daughter owns the bar. I let it slide, just for her. And you’d be amazed at how much looser people are with their wallets after a few drinks and somedancing.” The mischievous expression on her face is more than amusing.
“Clever,” I tell her, gravitating toward a rack of handcrafted postcards. I squint to get a better look at them, seeing a few of them appear to be hand-painted. “These are so cute.”
“I did them myself,” the woman says proudly. “I like creating something unique for someone to send out or take home. I just think it means more that way.”
I nod. “I haven’t ever seen anything like it.” I carefully pick up a postcard with an alligator sitting on a beach lounge chair by the ocean. Itscreamsof something Weston would like, and I’m not even sure why or how I know that.
But I have a good feeling he’d appreciate it.
“Do you have any stamps?” I ask her, carrying the postcard up to the counter and setting it down. “I kind of want to mail this to my friend sooner rather than later.” I don’t know why I feel the urgency, but I do, and it makes my chest warm the more I think about the laugh it might bring him.
“I have a few stamps of my own somewhere…” The woman pulls open a drawer and starts digging through the contents.
“Oh, you don’t have to do that.” I frown, leaning over the counter. “I can just buy a stamp from the post office when I send it.” I don’t want to be an inconvenience, especially not for someone whose artwork I’m trying to support.
“I really don’t mind.” She pulls out a roll of American flag stamps, as well as some card-sized envelopes. “If you want, you can go ahead and fill it out, put it in one of these envelopes, and then I’ll drop it off in the mail with the rest of the things I have to send out.”
“That would be absolutely amazing,” I say, unable to hide my excitement. “If you wouldn’t mind doing it, of course. I don’t want to be a bother.”
“Oh, you’re not at all!” The woman’s smile is larger than life as she rings up the postcard, the total popping up on the screen.
I swipe my card, paying for it, and then take the pen from the cup beside the register. I take the postcard back, and hover the tip of the pen over the lines.What do I say?I ponder carefully, feeling like the woman is watching me.
“Would you like some privacy?” she asks with a laugh, as if she just read my mind. “I don’t want to eavesdrop on your love letter, honey. Don’t worry.” With that, she exits from behind the register. “You can just leave it on the counter when you’re done and I’ll get it.”
I tell her a quick “Thanks,” then go back to focusing on the postcard that isdefinitely nota love letter.
Chapter Seventeen
Weston
“Pizza’s here,” I call out, taking the two boxes from the delivery guy. I tell him “Thanks,” giving him a tip in cash, then I shut the apartment door and turn to where my friends are sitting at my kitchen table for our monthly game night, Monopoly already set up and ready to go.
Are we nerds for playing Monopoly on a Friday night?
Maybe. But it’s fun.
Amy and Parker are on one side of the table, while Mia and John sit across from them, leaning comfortably into each other. Mia’s curly hair is pulled up in a loose, slightly messy knot, a few strands already escaping around her face, and John sits closely beside her, dark-rimmed glasses slipping slightly down his nose as he reaches for his drink. We haven’t all been in the same roommuch since Mia and John announced their engagement, so it’s good having everyone together again.
Even if I am the fifth wheel.
“I’m pretty sure I’m going to beat you all,” Parker announces as I set the pizza down and flip open the lid of the top one.
“We already know that,” I grumble, picking up a slice of the veggie pizza. I shove the end into my mouth and take a massive bite, not caring remotely that I probably appear like I have no manners. There’s no one judging me here.
Well, they probably are, but I don’t care.
“Ugh, I love this pizza place.” Amy groans as she grabs her own slice and takes a bite. Mia and John follow suit—Mia already mid-comment about how good it smells, John carefully balancing his slice over a napkin. Parker is the only one who doesn’t indulge, focusing instead on counting out the fake money and setting us up to play.
I shift in my chair, my eyes dropping to the board and the little car that I chose to be my game piece. “How come you love Monopoly so much?” I look up at Parker.
He shrugs. “Brit and I used to play it a lot as kids. We didn’t really have a lot of money to do much else.”
