No . . . no, they wouldn’t. That’s a Brig thing to say. I’ve actually heard him say something very similar to that in the coffee house . . . several times. There’s no denying his need to find love; the whole town knows about it.
The town knows about “the curse.”
They know about Brig’s need to break that curse.
And they know all about Brig’s failed attempts to break it.
“Finish reading it,” Rylee encourages.
I cup my stomach. All the saliva dries in my mouth. “I’m too nauseous.” This isn’t good. You can’t match pen pals in a small town. There’s no guess work. This is so wrong.
She snags the letter from my lap, the blue letter. Of course, Brig would use special paper to write his pen pal; that should have been clue number one. Clue number two should have been the giddy look on Rylee’s face. Clue number three—and I’m sort of ashamed to admit this—is his handwriting. I would know that handwriting anywhere. It’s cursive—something you don’t see from people our age—and meticulous. I’ve seen his handwriting a few times while he’s hung out and worked at the coffee house. I’ve always admired how he wrote in cursive and—embarrassingly—have wondered what my name would look like scrolled by his hand.
“I’ll read the rest of it,” Rylee announces before clearing her throat. “This is vital information I need to know because my three brothers all cut theirs like barbarians. Hate to admit it, but this could be a make-or-break for our relationship. So let me know . . . twirler or cutter? Sincerely, Your Secret Pen Pal. P.S. I don’t know how to do this, so don’t judge me on this lame letter. I promise I have more game than this.” Rylee clutches the letter to her chest and says, “Oh my God, he’s adorable. I don’t think I could be happier about my decision to meddle. Let’s write him back.”
“What?” I feel my eyes widen. “Are you insane? I’m not writing him back.” I point my finger at her and say, “And you better not write him back either. I’m not kidding, Rylee.”
“How could you not write him back?”
“Uh, easily. Just don’t write anything.”
“And then leave him hanging, wondering if he came on too weird with his spaghetti question? You know that’s going to make him question everything about his dating approach. He’s already sensitive when it comes to dating, so you not writing him back will possibly break him.”
Oh God. She’s right.
My mind quickly falls to Brig. The dejected look on his face, the depressed conversation he’d have with one of his brothers. I’ve overheard many of them.
Dumped after two dates.
Tourists only want sex, never a relationship.
Catfished by the town’s Uber driver.
Time and time again, I’ve heard him pour his heart out about wanting to find true love.
The perfect girl.
His one and only.
A girl he can spoil and get lost in.
Would this be another one of those situations? Most likely, but the difference is, I’d be the one causing the pain.
Rylee shakes my knee. “You’ve had a thing for Brig Knightly since middle school.”
“Yeah, and he’s never even noticed me.”
“He calls you ‘Ruthie.’ I think he’s the only one who does that.”
Besides my parents.
“He’s just being nice. You should have been there when we were looking at Mrs. Burberry’s store. It was so awkward. He looked pained to be there with me.”
“Maybe because you only said two words to him.” She shakes me again. “This is your chance, Ruth. This is your chance for him to finally get to know you, and it’s so perfect because you’re going to be work neighbors too. He’s going to be surrounded by you, so he’s bound to notice.”
“He doesn’t see me like that.”
“Or maybe you don’t allow him to see you like that. Ever think of it that way? You’re hiding yourself from him. You hide behind friends, behind the counter, and you never let him get to know you. You’ve lived in the same town for so long, and yet, you’ve maybe had a handful of conversations with the man. You’ve just . . . observed from a distance and slowly fallen head over heels in love with him.”
“I’m not in love with him.” I can’t be.
She sets the letter on my lap. “Maybe. Maybe not. But you know him well enough to know you can’t let his letter go unanswered. He’d be devastated. Is that what you want? To make the man even more paranoid than he is?”
“No,” I say softly, my stomach twisting in knots while doubt and anxiety creep up the back of my neck. “I don’t ever want to make him doubt himself.” I glance up at Rylee, feeling the backs of my eyes tingle with tears. “But . . . what if he doesn’t like me?”
“What if he does and he doesn’t know it yet?” Rylee leans forward taking both my hands in hers. “Wouldn’t you rather find out than just sit back always wondering what if? This is your moment, Ruth. This is your time to make something of everything you’ve ever wanted. Seize it. I know it’s what your parents would have wanted.”
My teeth pull my bottom lip into my mouth while the first wave of tears flash down my cheeks.
“I’m scared.” I wipe away a tear. “It might sound stupid, but I’m really scared. I’m not that kind of girl, who just takes what she wants.”
“I know, sweetie. It’s one of the reasons I love you, because you’re sweet, loving, caring, and you’re always thinking of others first. But now, it’s time to think about you. You can do this, and I’ll hold your hand every step of the way.”
“And what happens when he doesn’t want me?”
“What happens when he does, and you live happily ever after?”
“That’s your author heart speaking.”
She shakes her head, forcing me to look her in the eyes. “That’s your best friend talking.”
From upstairs, Beck calls out, “Is Ruth still here? I’m . . . uh . . . really aroused.”
Rylee and I both snort and chuckle. I stand, keeping Brig’s letter close to my chest while Rylee stands as well.
“Don’t want my husband to die from arousal.” Growing serious, she asks, “Are you going to write him back?”
Even though it’s scary and I’m terrified he might not want me to be his pen pal—something I’d find out the hard way—I slowly nod. “I’ll write him back.”
“Good.” She tips my chin up. “This could be the start of something great, Ruth. Just keep reminding yourself that when doubt starts to creep in. When fear takes hold of your heart and you stumble, just remember: you’ll never develop your dreams into a reality without trying. You have to try first.” Pulling me into a hug, she whispers, “I’m proud of you, Ruth. This might be scary, but deep in my bones, I know there is something between you two, it just hasn’t surfaced yet.” Pulling away, she smiles and calls out to Beck, “Heading up, handsome. Legs spread, hands behind your head.” She winks at me and then takes off toward her stairs.
I quickly let myself out, so I don’t have to be witness to an aroused Beck, legs spread, hands behind his head.