4. Hudson
CHAPTER 4
Hudson
Sunday night, I ran my thumb over the envelope, hesitating before tearing it open. The handwriting on the front was neat and deliberate. It was steady, confident, no-nonsense—exactly the opposite of how I felt holding the letter in my hands. It must have been Joan who wrote it since it didn’t look like the swirls I was used to seeing from my aunt.
Ida's enthusiasm for this whole pen pal idea had been obvious, but I wasn't in the business of baring my soul on paper—not after what happened the last time I’d trusted someone with my thoughts.
Still, my aunt's meddling had landed me here with a letter in hand and no one around to judge me for reading it. I might as well dive in.
Settling into one of the overstuffed armchairs in the front room as the inn's fire crackled, I stared at the envelope for a beat longer, willing myself to chill out. What would be the harm in opening the letter just to skim it? I could get a feel for my mystery pen pal and decide from there if I’d continue to exchange letters.
I’d sent one to my pen pal just to get Ida off my back that first day—as she’d hovered over me with a duster under the guise of “just cleaning.” So, was this a reply to my letter, or was it the sender's first, and our letters had crossed paths?
Only one way to find out.
I took a sip of the coffee I’d snagged from the always-stocked coffee bar in the dining room, savoring the rich, bitter flavor. With a deep breath, I slid my finger under the flap of the envelope, breaking the seal.
The paper within was crisp and smooth, and the ink was a deep blue that popped on the page, somehow making my pen pal's handwriting even prettier. Just the thought of finding it “pretty” had me narrowing my eyes. Had Ida and Joan intentionally chosen the pairings for potential matchmaking reasons? It seemed like a safe bet, knowing them. It wasn’t like they’d opt to leave things to chance when they could meddle instead.
Dear Stranger,
Real talk—I feel ridiculous writing this letter.
I do think the concept is cute, I’m just not sure what we’re supposed to talk about, ya know? I Googled, “what to write in a secret pen pal letter,” and was advised that I would be safe to talk about things I wouldn’t normally want to share since it’s anonymous.
What kind of things, you ask? Well, in case you haven’t Googled this for yourself, things like hopes, dreams, and fears.
So… here goes.
In the “hopes” category, I hope this letter finds you well. (See how good I’m gonna be at this?)
For dreams, I’m currently at a loss. I used to have a few dreams that I would’ve shared with total confidence—anonymous or not. First, I wanted to own my own business. Second, I had someone in my life that I thought had the same dreams I did as far as our future. But since neither of those things is going to happen now… I guess you could say I’m on the hunt for a new dream.
Lastly, fears. Man, why is this so deep? Let’s keep it light and say my biggest fear right now is that I’ve already poured so much awkward sauce all over this letter that you won’t even be able to read it. Or even if you can read it, you won’t want to reply.
Okay, that’s enough for now. I’ve shared my hopes, dreams, and fears, leaving myself totally open to being made fun of by a perfect stranger.
Your turn? No pressure.
Sincerely,
Your secret pen pal
I exhaled slowly. I’d planned to skim it and then blow it off, but the writer's words were sincere, with a touch of dry humor that caught me off guard. I felt a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth as I reread the letter for no particular reason.
But then, the creak of the old wooden stairs drew my attention, and I glanced up, eyes widening slightly as I recognized the woman descending the steps. It was the bartender from The Hearthstone—the one whose quick, alluring smile had captivated me so completely when I’d wandered in there on Friday night.
Was she a guest here, too?
She paused at the bottom of the stairs, her dark hair falling in waves over her shoulders. The dim light cast soft shadows across her face, and when her eyes met mine, there was an unmistakable flicker of recognition there. She must recognize me, too, and my chest tightened as a hesitant smile curved her lips.
She wrapped her arms around her middle as she stepped into the room. "Mind if I join you?"
I gestured to the empty armchair across from me. "Please do."
She nodded her thanks, that faint smile still in place as she lowered herself into the chair.
"I'm Hudson, by the way.” I extended my hand across the gap between our chairs.
She shook it, and I fought not to react to the simple handshake. It was just a handshake for crying out loud. And yet, it lit me up in a way that made it hard to focus on the next words out of her mouth.
"Ah, you’re Ida's Hudson, then? That makes sense."
I narrowed my eyes. "What makes sense?"
"She loves to brag about you. She did it a lot last year when I was in town, and I haven't seen her yet this year, but Tommy mentioned her Marine nephew was back. And you look like a Marine."
"I see… And what exactly does a Marine look like?"
She blushed. "You."
I had no idea what to say to that, but one thing trumped everything else as her earlier words sunk in. "You’re Tommy's sister. Sofia, right?"
Her mouth opened slightly, and then she let out a whisper of a laugh. "Let me guess—he's already warned you to stay far, far away?"
"Should he?"
"Didn't he?"
I wordlessly shook my head, smiling at her surprise.
"Huh. I don't normally come up without him mentioning I'm a trouble magnet."
"Oh, he definitely mentioned that. Verbatim ," I allowed, and when Sofia tilted her head in confusion, I went on. "Just because he said you were a magnet for trouble doesn't mean he warned me away from you. Or that I'd listen, even if he had.”
Sofia blushed harder now, and I realized I had a new mission in life: Make that pop of pink show up on Sofia Sullivan's face as often as humanly possible, or die trying.
"Is he that protective of you?" I asked. "Takes the big brother thing to the extreme?"
"Actually, he's my baby brother, but you wouldn't know it from looking at us. He's got three older sisters, and he towers over us all. We think he might have been switched at birth, and our real brother was short like the rest of us. Either way, we do our fair share of protective older sister stuff, but he’s definitely protective like a big brother would be, too. So I guess we’re all just a bunch of bullies, now that I think about it.”
I smiled but didn’t reply. I enjoyed listening to her talk, but more than that, I wasn’t sure what I could add. I had a vague knowledge of what protective siblings would do to and for each other… but no personal experience.
"Do you have any siblings?" she asked, almost as if she could read my thoughts.
"Nope. It's just me.” I hated that I felt a pang of envy… a sort of longing for the kind of family I’d never had.
Well, not until the military, anyway. At least the friends I made there became my family when it counted. But there was just something about the lifetime of memories that must have caused the fondness in Sofia's voice. It was a warmth that spoke of an unshakable bond between blood siblings that I’d never known.
Despite that, however, we lapsed into a comfortable silence as we both stared at the fire. It felt natural to sit here with her. It was like we’d slipped into a routine that had existed long before this moment, long before we’d met the night before.
"What were you reading when I came in?" Sofia asked, tipping her chin toward the pocket where I’d stashed my pen pal's letter.
I fished it out, only slightly embarrassed. "Oh, ya know, just my attempt at being a good nephew."
"Is that one of the pen pal letters?"
I nodded. Participants were instructed to put their notes in envelopes with their own name on the outside so Ida and Joan would know who to deliver them to, but then they would swap out the envelopes to maintain the secrecy. And as such, once delivered, all of the letters were enclosed in the same cream-colored envelope with red writing.
It seemed like a heck of a lot of pointless work to me, but if it made my aunt and Joan happy, I couldn’t really judge them for it.
Sofia reached into the front pocket of her black hoodie, pulling out a matching envelope and wiggling it with a small smile.
“You too? My aunt signed me up," I admitted. " Without permission."
Sofia grinned. "I feel like I signed up just to prove a point and not because I actually wanted to, so I guess we're in similar boats, huh?"
"Both here under duress. I'll show you mine if you show me yours," I suggested with a wag of my brows.
Sofia's head dropped back as she cackled, and the sound lit me up from the inside out. Yet another mission: make her laugh like that as often as she blushed. That sound held everything I’d wanted to come here to feel—free, happy, unburdened—and I wanted to hear it again and again.
"Nice try," she said, "but that feels like cheating. Besides, I haven't read my letter yet, and what if my pen pal is way cooler than yours, and I just give him or her away without ever knowing that?"
"Tragedy, for sure. But I will admit, I already like whoever mine is. I like the way she writes. It's honest and funny and real. I think I’ll keep her.”
“How do you know it’s a she?”
I shrugged. “Maybe I’m good at reading people, too,” I said, repeating her words from Friday night.
"Now you're just making me even more curious to read mine."
I held out a hand. "Don't let me stop you."
In another show of unexpected ease between us, we each focused our attention on our letters.
Itching for clues as to who my mystery pen pal was, I scanned the letter to see if I could figure anything out. I was sure the handwriting I’d admired looked distinctly feminine. But who was she? There were no other clues in her words.
But the better question was, why did I enjoy her writing voice more and more with each time my eyes scanned the page?
I looked up to see if Sofia was as intrigued by her letter as I was by mine, noting the way her brow furrowed slightly as her eyes moved over the words. I watched her, transfixed by the way the firelight played across her features. Her full lips moved slightly as she read, and my own letter was quickly forgotten.
As if sensing my gaze, Sofia looked up, her dark eyes ensnaring mine.
For a long moment, we simply stared at each other. But then the fire chose that moment to pop, sending a shower of sparks up the chimney and breaking our staring contest. We both jumped slightly, then smiled as we settled back in our chairs and refocused on our letters.
But the quiet pull of her presence lingered at the edge of my thoughts, making it impossible to concentrate on anything but her.
"How's your letter?" I asked, folding mine and tucking it back into the envelope.
"Thoughtful, but funny,” she replied. "It feels like whoever it is has a lot on their mind but they’re really good at looking at the bright side.”
I nodded, glancing toward the fire. "I wonder if writing to a stranger is easier or harder than writing to someone you know."
Sofia snorted. "I’m not sure, but writing my letter was a lot more fun than my past letter-writing experience. So, maybe it depends on the circumstances. I’m definitely not a fan of love letters anymore, so hopefully, that’s not what this whole secret pen pal thing is supposed to turn into.”
I chuckled, but I couldn't ignore the pang of curiosity—and maybe protectiveness—that her words stirred within me. I knew why I was done with love letters, but what happened to make her feel the same way? And why did I have the sudden urge to track down whoever had clearly hurt her?
I pushed those thoughts aside, uncomfortable with the fact that I’d even had them. I didn’t even know this woman.
“Sounds like you know Joan and Ida fairly well if you’re already trying to figure out their motives,” I said.
“I don’t know them super well, but I know enough to watch my back when they’re up to something.”
I grinned. “Well, we’re on the hook now, so watch out.”
Sofia met my gaze, a flicker of vulnerability in her dark eyes. “Why do you think your aunt signed you up for this?"
"Who knows, with her? She’s great at meddling in general. Maybe she thinks it'll be good for me to connect with someone new, especially after..." I trailed off, the words sticking in my throat.
Sofia's expression softened. "After what?"
I hesitated, but something about the way she looked at me, without judgment or pity, made me want to open up. She’d opened up to me at the bar, after all. Sure, I could’ve told her about the first and only woman I’d ever loved breaking my heart in a letter, but that would be the easy way out. I wasn’t one for taking those, so instead, I said the harder thing. "After I lost someone. My best friend. We served together."
"I'm so sorry, Hudson." Sofia reached across the space between us, placing her hand on my arm. Her touch was warm, comforting. "I can't imagine how hard that must be, but I’ve heard this place has a way of helping people heal."
I looked down at her hand, then back up at her face. Her touch lingered, the simple contact sending a ripple of warmth through my body. I found myself leaning into it, craving the comfort and connection she offered so freely.
“I hope it helps you, too” I said.
Sofia smiled, giving my arm a gentle squeeze before withdrawing her hand.
I immediately missed her touch.
"So, are you going to write back to your pen pal?" she asked, steering the conversation to lighter territory.
“Yeah, you?”
“Definitely. But, not tonight. I’m beat after those first two shifts at The Hearthstone, and whatever I said if I wrote back tonight would probably be even weirder than what I said in my first letter.”
“Are you one of those people who gets silly when they’re sleep-deprived?”
“ Maybe .”
I chuckled. “I have a few friends like that. We were sleep-deprived a lot, so at least they kept it entertaining.”
“What are you like when you’re sleep-deprived?”
“Cranky, mostly.”
At this, Sofia let her head fall back with a laugh, and I silently awarded myself points for causing it to happen again.
“Well, if we’re ever sleep-deprived together, I’ll be sure to be silly enough that you couldn’t be cranky if you tried,” she said, and then her eyes widened. She must have rethought the suggestion of us being sleep-deprived together because a blush bloomed over her cheeks as she quickly rose from her chair. “Anyway, see? I’m already saying weird things. I’m gonna go.”
I fought a grin as I watched her head for the stairs like she couldn’t get away fast enough.
Double points.
She turned when she reached the bottom step. “Thanks for chatting with me. This was nice.”
I opened his mouth to reply, but she wasn’t waiting. Instead, she turned and bolted up the stairs.
“Goodnight, Sofia,” I said to the empty room.