I laugh, shaking my head. “No, I’m not in trouble.”Not the kind you’re thinking of.“I just have a friend who writes me sometimes.” I know I’m giving her way more information than I should, but the last thing I want the woman doing is conjuring up that I’m in tax trouble … or whatever other kind of trouble she’s referring to.
“Afriend,huh?” The look that flashes across her face is unmistakable. This woman thinks I’m a lunatic. “Using snail mail?”
“It’s just something we started doing.” I jump to our defense, but I don’t know why. I seriously don’t owe this woman any kind of explanation for anything I do. She just works the front desk.
“So, why not just call your friend and ask them why they haven’t sent you another letter or package?” She leans back in her chair, raising her brows in the same way the judge did today in court.
“I don’t have his phone number.”
Thatgets a smile to form on her face.
“So, you’re telling me that you have afriendsending you letters, it’s ahe, andhedoesn’t even have your phone number, but he sends you consistent mail? Are you pretending this is the fifties? You know they have groups for that.”
Yeah, it’s called therapy.
“It’s not like that. I’m sure I could find his phone number if I needed to, but…” My voice trails off.Why in the world am I still trying to justify anything to her?“Never mind.”
“You should just call him,” she calls after me as I head for the elevator. “You’d be amazed at how quickly you can get a hold of someone.”
“Thank you for the information,” I mutter under my breath, nearly punching theUpbutton on the wall. As much as I can’t stand the woman picking at me, she’s right.
Icouldjust call Weston.
I could tell him that I’m sorry for being so weird about the kiss, and that we can still be pen pals, if he wants. I could say sorry for poking fun at the way he wants to find love so badly.
But then what?My stomach knots as I step inside, wrapping my arms around myself. Because the moment I open the door back up for Weston, I’m going to owe him a reason.
For the kiss.
For not stopping it.
I could’ve easily told him “no” the moment he leaned in and pressed his lips against mine. But that’snotwhat I did.
Because Ilikedit.
And that part scares me more than I want to admit.
I swallow hard as I ride the elevator up. Iknowthere’s something beneath the surface when it comes to Weston. He has everything a woman could ever want—stability, looks, humor, and integrity.
But something still feels off as I step into my apartment and set my things down on the kitchen island. My eyes shift to my painting on the wall, the one Weston’s gift card compelled me to paint. My heart squeezes at the thought of the first gesture—the one that led to our writing exchange.
Ugh. Why did I have to go and ruin everything?
My phone vibrates against the counter just as I’m about to walk away, intending to take a shower. I scoop it up and smile as Harlee’s text message comes through.
Harlee:Still on for a movie night tonight?
I send her back an“Absolutely! I’ll order pizza now!”and proceed to do exactly as I told her, ordering a large supreme for the two of us to split. I then make my way to my room, strip off my work clothes for the day, and head straight for the shower.
Maybe the hot water will wash away the confusion and disappointment.
“IswearI could eat this pizza every freaking day.” Harlee groans as she leans back against my couch, taking a bite of her second slice.
“You know,” she adds, chewing, “you haven’t told me anything about the birthday party you went to recently. It was for your pen pal guy, right?”
I cringe at her words and glance toward the TV, wishing I’d started the rom com we picked out a few minutes ago. “It was just a party.”
“Okay, but…” She swallows. “This is the man who mailed you aSuperman cape.There’s no way you don’t have anything to tell me at all. Was it just too crowded? Did you not get to talk to him?”
