Chapter Seventeen
Weston
“Pizza’s here,” I call out, taking the two boxes from the delivery guy. I tell him “Thanks,” giving him a tip in cash, then I shut the apartment door and turn to where my friends are sitting at my kitchen table for our monthly game night, Monopoly already set up and ready to go.
Are we nerds for playing Monopoly on a Friday night?
Maybe. But it’s fun.
Amy and Parker are on one side of the table, while Mia and John sit across from them, leaning comfortably into each other.
Mia’s curly hair is pulled up in a loose, slightly messy knot, a few strands already escaping around her face, and John sits closely beside her, dark-rimmed glasses slipping slightly down his nose as he reaches for his drink.
We haven’t all been in the same room much since Mia and John announced their engagement, so it’s good having everyone together again.
Even if I am the fifth wheel.
“I’m pretty sure I’m going to beat you all,” Parker announces as I set the pizza down and flip open the lid of the top one.
“We already know that,” I grumble, picking up a slice of the veggie pizza. I shove the end into my mouth and take a massive bite, not caring remotely that I probably appear like I have no manners. There’s no one judging me here.
Well, they probably are, but I don’t care.
“Ugh, I love this pizza place.” Amy groans as she grabs her own slice and takes a bite.
Mia and John follow suit—Mia already mid-comment about how good it smells, John carefully balancing his slice over a napkin.
Parker is the only one who doesn’t indulge, focusing instead on counting out the fake money and setting us up to play.
I shift in my chair, my eyes dropping to the board and the little car that I chose to be my game piece. “How come you love Monopoly so much?” I look up at Parker.
He shrugs. “Brit and I used to play it a lot as kids. We didn’t really have a lot of money to do much else.”
Sometimes I forget about Parker and Brittany’s upbringing. The two of them didn’t have it easy, and they’ve both managed to be successful in life, despite the challenges. I appreciate that about them.
“You took care of Brittany a lot, didn’t you?” Amy asks the question, and I find myself leaning into it, thinking of the letter exchange we’ve started. There’s something special about it … and something forbidden, too. I don’t think Parker would approve in the slightest.
“I did take care of her,” Parker admits. “Our parents worked a lot, so I did the best I could with her. It wasn’t easy, but it was worth it.”
“You know what.” Amy hums, grabbing the dice and preparing to roll them. “I think you and Brittany should hang out more often. I don’t think you see her enough. Maybe it would be good for the two of you.”
“Maybe.” Parker shrugs. “She’s busy with work and stuff.”
The dice clatter to the board, and Amy grumbles something under her breath as the amount only totals out to five. “I guess I won’t be going first.”
I grab for them, rolling the two dice and happily nodding at the eleven I manage to get. I then pass them to Parker who rolls a seven. Mia rolls an eight and John rolls a two.
“Wow. Already cursed,” John mutters. “Love that for me.”
“Looks like Wes gets to start.” Parker grunts. “Hopefully, it doesn’t work out for him.”
I roll my eyes at the jab. “Wow, you’re such a supportive friend.”
Less than an hour later, Parker is slamming his hand on the coffee table, making the Monopoly pieces jump.
“Pay up, sucker!” he demands, gesturing to his hotel-laden Boardwalk property where my poor little silver car has just landed.
I groan dramatically and begin counting out my rapidly dwindling Monopoly money.
Game nights at my apartment always get a little intense, especially when Parker’s competitive streak kicks in.
Amy laughs from her spot, sipping her beer and watching us with amusement.
Mia winces dramatically every time Parker buys another property, like she can physically feel the money leaving our hands.
The pizza boxes are now empty, the chips are nearly gone, and I’m about to go bankrupt—all signs of a successful Friday night.
“That’s fifteen hundred dollars,” Parker says, holding out his hand. “Fork it over.”
“Highway robbery,” I mutter, slapping the colorful bills into his palm.
“This game is rigged.” Mia sighs.
“You say that every time,” John tells her. “And every time, you still play.”
“It’s called strategy,” Parker counters, sorting the money into neat piles. Even his Monopoly cash has to be organized by denomination. Classic Parker.
Mia reaches for another slice of pizza, frowning when she realizes the box is empty. “Next time, we’re ordering more food. You guys eat like you’ve never seen pizza before.”
“Blame Parker,” John says, taking a swig of his beer. “He’s the one who gets ‘hangry’ during competition.”
“I do not get hangry,” Parker protests, though his expression tells a different story. “I just … require sustenance to maintain peak performance.”
“That’s the most Parker sentence I’ve ever heard,” Mia says, laughing.
Amy rolls the dice for her turn, moving her little dog token safely past Parker’s property empire. As she collects $200 for passing Go, she glances up at me with that look—the one that always precedes some attempt at prying into my personal life.
“So,” she says, way too casually, “how did things go with Natalie after the show?”
And there it is.
I shift uncomfortably in my chair, suddenly very interested in reorganizing my property cards. “Uh, well…”
“You never called her, did you?” Parker doesn’t even look up from counting his money.
“I meant to,” I say, which isn’t entirely a lie. I did think about calling her … for about thirty seconds before I got distracted by the package from Brittany. The stuffed cat named Polly and her note consumed my thoughts for days afterward. But I can’t exactly tell them that.
“You had chemistry,” Amy insists. “I could tell! She was totally into you.”
“Yeah, well…” I trail off, reaching for my beer. “I guess I just got busy.”
Parker snorts. “Busy doing what? Reorganizing your sock drawer?”
“Some of us have lives outside of monopolizing Monopoly,” I retort.
The truth is, I haven’t been able to get Brittany out of my head. Every time I’ve thought about calling Natalie, I’ve found myself rereading Brittany’s letters instead. Comparing every potential date to someone I can’t have is probably a sign of some deep psychological issue…
But here we are.
“Have you had any luck with speed dating lately?” Mia asks.
I shrug. “Depends what you mean by luck. I meet people, we talk. Sometimes I get numbers.” I hesitate, then add, “But it never really goes anywhere. I’m starting to think speed dating just isn’t for me.”
And if the person I wanted were actually an option, I wouldn’t need to speed date.
Mia leans back in her chair, studying me. “But that’s how all of us met—me and John, Amy and Parker. It worked for everyone at this table. That’s gotta count for something.” She smiles. “Maybe you just need to keep putting yourself out there.”
“Or maybe you need to get a hobby.” Parker grunts. “All you do is work and go on dates.”
“I have hobbies,” I argue.
John raises a brow. “Speed dating isn’t a hobby, man.”
Amy perks up like she’s just remembered something and turns toward me. “Okay, but listen. Sometimes it really does just … happen when you least expect it. Like what happened with my best friend, Eliza—”
“He’s not ready for this story.” Parker groans.
“Oh, hush,” she says, waving him off. “So, Eliza was completely done with dating. Like, sworn off men. Done. Over it. She was with this absolute jerk for eight years and he wouldn’t marry her. Just kept stringing her along.”
“Brutal,” John mutters.
“Right?” Amy nods. “So, they break up, and she decides she’s done with men. Like, done done. And then…” She pauses, building suspense. “She literally falls through a wooden access ramp.”
I blink at her. “I’m sorry … what?”
“She fell through a ramp,” Amy repeats, like this is a totally reasonable sentence. “Straight into a hole. Couldn’t get out.”
Parker huffs a laugh, shaking his head. “Still can’t believe that part.”
“And guess who shows up to rescue her?” Amy continues.
“A firefighter,” Mia says, already smiling.
“A firefighter,” Amy confirms, pointing at her. “Nick—her now husband. He pulls her out, they start talking, and they’ve been inseparable ever since.”
I stare at her for a second, then shake my head. “That’s … insane.”
“It’s romantic,” Amy corrects.
“It’s a liability issue,” Parker mutters.
Amy nudges him with her elbow before looking back at me. “My point is, you never know how it’s going to happen. One second, you’re giving up on love, and the next, you’re falling into a hole and meeting your husband.”
I huff out a laugh, reaching for my beer. “Awesome. So now my options are speed dating … or falling through questionable construction.”
“Or you could do neither.” Parker shrugs. “Could just try living your life.”
My phone buzzes on the table, and I glance down to see a USPS Informed Delivery email notification. My pulse quickens as I see the preview image: a colorful envelope with handwriting that is unmistakably Brittany’s—I’ve studied it enough in her previous letters to recognize it instantly.
My heart does this weird flip-flop thing that I immediately try to ignore.
“I, uh—” I stand up abruptly, nearly knocking over my beer. “I just remembered I need to check something in the mailroom. I think I was supposed to get a package today,” I lie. Well, it’s not technically a lie … I did get a mail notification.
Parker raises an eyebrow. “In the middle of our game?”
“It’ll just take a second,” I say, already backing toward the door. “Go ahead and play my turn if it comes up. I trust you not to bankrupt me completely.” I force a laugh.
“We all know that’s a lie,” John calls after me as I slip out the door.
The hallway is empty, thank goodness. I take the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator, my footsteps echoing in the stairwell as I practically bound down to the ground floor.
I’m being ridiculous—I know this. It’s just a card.
But the anticipation of seeing what Brittany wrote has me acting like I’m sixteen again, waiting for a text from my first crush.
Parker would absolutely lose his mind if he knew.
The mailroom is mercifully empty when I push through the door.
I fumble with my keys, dropping them once before managing to get my mailbox open.
And there it is—the card-sized envelope, right on top.
I tear it open, revealing a postcard. Immediately, I smirk at the hand-painted alligator sitting on a lounge chair, sipping a drink.
“Where the heck did you get this?” I laugh out loud, flipping it over to the reverse side.
Wes,
As it turns out, I decided to fly myself (using the cape you provided, of course) to Florida for a girl’s trip.
I can confidently say that the ability to fly would be my preferred superpower.
So far, I would say that Florida has been completely uneventful.
However, I found this super cool postcard to send you.
I knew the moment I saw it, you’d probably laugh.
Well, at least I hope you do. How embarrassing of me to assume you will!
Anyway, I hope Polly is treating you well.
Enjoy being the third wheel.
Brittany
P.S. I have more to share, but not enough room!
I chuckle at the message, feeling warmth spread through my chest. It’s amazing how something so simple and small can change the entire evening. I carefully tuck the postcard back into the envelope and stick it in the middle of the stack of bills.
Grinning like a buffoon, I ride the elevator back up to my floor, and as soon as I enter my apartment, both Amy and Parker look up at me.
“What’s got you all excited?” Parker asks, his brows rising. “You look like you just won a million dollars. Is that why you had to go get the mail?”
I laugh, brushing him off. “I guess if a discount on my insurance bill is what you would deem the equivalent, then yes. That’s exactly what happened.”
“Hmm…” Amy stares at me a little harder, and I feel my face grow hot. “You just entered this place with so much energy.”
“He did, didn’t he?” Parker turns to her, still mulling it over.
“Just gotta pee,” I lie, then duck away from them.
I head straight for my room, pretending like I’m on a mission to put my bills up and use the bathroom.
I shut the door behind me and let out a large, obnoxious breath of relief.
I don’t know what it is about Brittany’s letters that always get me acting like a giddy school kid.
Maybe it’s because she’s the prettiest woman I’ve ever seen.
And so sweet.
And funny.
I shake it off, reaching under my bed and pulling out a shoebox. I drop the postcard in there with her other letters, trying not to make a big deal over it. At the time, it felt like designating a box to her letters was overkill—I didn’t know how long it would last. But now?
Now, I’m pretty sure we have a good thing going.
And I don’t want it to stop.