11. Chapter 11
Chapter 11
Milo
I woke up to thoughts of Rose.
And now, my brothers’ incessant talking in the room next door is barely a blip on my radar. I got up early, got some words in my latest work in progress, my serial story, Zehma of the Night Loch , then worked out at the resort gym. I was even showered, ready, and at my desk early.
I got stuff done. And now that Sebastian and Oliver are next door, talking with some other corporate executives about this, that, and the other, I’m not too bothered by it.
Because I saw Rose yesterday. And I don’t know what I did to deserve this bit of luck smiling down on me in my life right now, but there’s been a spring in my step since we locked eyes yesterday.
There’s been a spring in my step since I met her. It was after that first night with her that I decided to work for Sebastian, since this position gives me more flexibility to write. I independently published my first book, The Dowager Magician , and began selling paperbacks and e-books off my Thaddeus Blackthorn website. That’s my pen name—Thaddeus Blackthorn. Reaching out to agents has been discouraging, but I’m not going to stop trying, or lowering my standards on who I’d like to represent me and my books. It’s go big or go home, right?
I think it was Rose’s drive to create her own life that got me going. She wanted to become a nurse, so she was doing everything it takes to become one. It’s inspiring.
I get why she didn’t talk to me yesterday. She’d expected to never see me again. And she was working. She’d said she can’t be in a relationship—that things are complicated for her. I respect that. That doesn’t mean I couldn’t give her a little welcome letter from Tate, right? And maybe her circumstances have changed—that whatever was holding her back from going on a real date with me isn’t an issue anymore.
A guy can hope.
Thanks to Maggie in HR, I was able to find out that she does indeed work in housekeeping. I also found out that her last name is Hawkins.
And about the letter. I’m a nerd, okay? I have a wax sealing kit that was made especially for me by the English department head at Columbia before I left. She had them made for all her students who’d won an award that year for their creative writing.
It’s still exciting to think that I won first place in a contest sponsored by Brandon Sanderson for The Dowager Magician.
Please don’t say anything to my family. They have no idea that I write at all, let alone in the fantasy genre. I think if they found out, they’d insist I take a genetic test to make sure I’m actually a Tate and there wasn’t some mix-up at the hospital.
I think of Rose again, much like I have the past six months. The letter to her was written from the perspective of a friend. A nice gesture, I hope. Which is why a tumble of surprise falls through me when I get a notification that there’s a piece of mail in my mailbox in the office downstairs.
I don’t know if it’s from Rose. I probably shouldn’t get my hopes up. Still, it wouldn’t hurt to try to hurry down there to see if I can catch up with her.
No such luck, as she’s nowhere to be found. And the piece of mail in my box looks to be some sort of corporate automated mailer everybody else got . . . a postcard about health coverage.
As I reach in the box to grab the postcard, my thumb slides over a thicker, smaller envelope hidden beneath it. “Milo” is scrawled on the front. All lowercase letters except for the “L.”
I smile as I tear it open, whipping my head around in the vain hope that I’ll see her somehow.
Milo,
What a surprise. I had no idea you worked here.
Apologies that this note is not as cool looking as yours. Instead of a fancy wax seal, you get my messy handwriting on a piece of notebook paper. Bonus points for me for managing to find an envelope in my yet-to-be-unpacked apartment, though!
So, the T in the MKT stands for Tate. The M is for Milo. So what is the K for? Kornucopia? Konstantine? Kamphor?
If it is actually any of these names, please accept my deepest apologies for making fun of it just now.
And you don’t have to tell me either way.
But I do insist on knowing one thing: How are your baby-making parts holding up? Have they fully recovered from the trauma they sustained last fall?
Rose
I grin. I chuckle. I resist the urge to place the paper against my nose to see if it smells like her.
Glancing over the words again, I read between the lines. She must have just moved to Longdale if she isn’t unpacked yet. I could ask around, but I don’t want to raise any suspicions. If anyone were to find out that this Rose is actually my Gloria, my brothers would deem it their personal mission to analyze our every move. And tease us relentlessly.
The letter she’s written is funny, but she still seems guarded. No, Let’s become penpals, Milo!
But she asked about my baby-making parts. It could mean many things, but maybe she’s thinking of me in different terms than she said she would. Or she’s just a nice person who cares when people get hurt.
It’s probably that, but still. She didn’t say I shouldn’t write her back. She practically invited me to do just that by asking me questions about my middle name and the whole baby-making parts thing.
I laugh again. I want to run to my suite upstairs right now and write her back, but I force myself to calm down. Breathe.
I manage to somewhat enjoy my lunch with my brothers. I really am lucky. I want us to hang out together as much as possible. I’ve always been that way, ever since I was a little kid. Even though they are all older than me and we’re so different, I’ve wanted to connect with them. Sebastian left home by the time I was six, and ever since then, I’ve been trying to get us all back together.
Still, I can’t help thinking of Rose. I make a promise to myself that I’ll finish my work for the day before writing her another letter. It’s just as well because I’m not sure how much I’m going to tell her about myself. Do I tell her I’m a writer? Do I tell her how much I’ve been thinking of her all this time?
I guess I’ll figure that out when I start writing her back. Now it’s time to engage in one of those tricks I learned a long time ago—to force myself to get something done, I’d tell myself I’ll have a reward after.
And today? Today’s reward will be writing to Rose.