“Can of worms?” Parker looks confused. “Look, I get it, but you know how Amy is … she’s a hopeless romantic. I promised her I would ask you.”
I sigh. “Okay, yeah, whatever. Just, uh, tell me when it is and I’ll see if I can make it work. No promises though.” I put my computer to sleep and push back from the desk, standing to my feet. I stretch my arms over my head, feeling the ache of a long day.
Yay for getting old.
“You’re different lately,” Parker says. “And I kinda like it on you. Whatever you’re doing … you should keep doing it.”
“Whatever you say,” I tell him, slapping my hand on his shoulder and giving it a squeeze before grabbing my bag and jacket. “But I gotta head out. I have stuff to get done this evening, and Rambo needs a good bath.”
“Right.” Parker grins at me as he steps out of my way. “Have a good evening.”
“See ya tomorrow.” I give him a nod goodbye and slip out of my office. Fatigue pulls at my eyes as I make my way to the elevator, and I find myself rubbing them mercilessly, like I might just gouge the things right out of my skull.
However, the energy-sucking computer tiredness begins to wear off as I step out onto the street, the cool evening air hitting my face. It’s definitely spring time, but there’s still enough chill in the air to make it refreshing. And the city air is better than the stale office air.
I keep my feet moving and my head up, considering the proposition of the double date that Parker laid out in front of me. Normally, I would’ve been all over it, but now? Now it just feels daunting. I’m still trying to recover from what happened at my birthday party with Brittany.
That night still sits heavy in my chest—worse than any bad date I’ve ever had. Kissing her was full of fireworks, passion, and the spark that ignited between us was absolutely intoxicating.
But she doesn’t want anything to do with me anymore.
And that’s a hard truth I’ve had to accept. She didn’t even want to be friends after that … not that we were friends before? I don’t know. I had put way too much into the pen pal thing we had going, and now I’m paying for it.
With my heart.
I shake my head at how ridiculous that sounds, and slip into the café—the one I often frequent on my way home, or in the morning.
“Weston.” Linda greets me with a warm smile. “Your usual?”
“Yes, please,” I tell her as I make my way to the front counter. I pull out cash as she places my scone in a to-go bag and sets it on the counter, scurrying off to make my iced coffee. I wait patiently for her to finish up, pay, and then head out again. I like routine, and I like the way I’m still able to enjoy the day and smile, despite feeling the rejection from Brittany.
Maybe, for once, I’ll let love find me.
When I reach my apartment building, I step through the door and head for my mailbox. I didn’t check my email to see what—if anything—was coming today. I know it won’t be from Brittany, and I ignore the stupid little pang of hope in my chest.
Let it go.
I shove my key in the box and turn it, holding my breath as I go through the motions. I take in a stack of letters, all appearing to be plain envelopes.
Aka bills.
Reaching in, I grab them and tuck them under my arm as I walk to the elevator.I only have about twenty minutes before I need to leave for the shelter, and it’s just enough time to suck down my coffee and scone, then change.
As I walk in my door minutes later, I toss the letters down on the counter, along with my things. However, as I walk away, I stop in my tracks.
Oneof the letters is not like the others.
And I’d recognize that handwriting anywhere.
She wrote me? Why?
My heart jumps to my throat as I pick it up, examining every single inch of the paper. I check the postmark, just to make sure it didn’t get lost from before, then carefully tear it open.
I brace, not knowing what to expect as I unfold the notebook paper.
Weston,
Happy National Talk Like Shakespeare Day! Naturally, I can’ttalkto you in such a way, but I did take the time to create the very best sonnet I could muster.
