Chapter Twenty-Five
Weston
Maria: See you this evening, right? Rambo is in desperate need of a bath. He got into something in the exercise yard this morning.
I chuckle as I read the message, thinking about the obnoxious, energy-filled dog giving Maria a run for her money. I’ve been volunteering at the animal shelter almost every single evening and during the day on the weekend, if I’m not hanging out with anyone.
Dating hasn’t even crossed my mind.
I send Maria a quick text back, letting her know that I should be there this evening, once I stop by my apartment and change. The first day I showed up wearing nice clothes, but I quickly learned that it was much better to dress for a mess.
After the text sends, I turn back to my computer, rolling through the coding project that one of the junior developers sent over this afternoon. It seems to be fine, but it’s still not quite automating the way it should be.
Eddy really should be the one to fix this, I think to myself. But of course, the kid sent it over right before he left for vacation for the next two weeks. And while he’s enjoying Mexico, I’ll be fixing his mistakes.
Typical.
With a deep breath, I reach forward and kick on the speaker—a light classical foray of music filling the room. I spend the next twenty minutes focusing solely on accomplishing work, and allow myself to get lost in it.
Well, until Parker shows up with his usual heavy knock on the door.
“Hey, Beethoven.”
“Sup, Scrooge,” I say, never even pulling my eyes away from the screen.
“Did Eddy mess up the automation for CliniCo?”
“Yep,” I reply, still punching away at the keyboard. “I can’t figure out exactly what he did, but the answers aren’t coming out correctly. This isn’t going to go over well with the client, and you know it. He messed up the last one, too.”
“I guess that’s what happens when you’re twenty-two years old and all you care about is making it to your two-week vacay.” Parker lets out a frustrated grunt, and then places a hand on the back of my desk chair, leaning against it. “I guess it’s a good thing I have you to pick up the slack.”
“Uh-huh,” I say absent-mindedly. “That’s me.”
“The best guy on the team.” Parker chuckles.
“Sure.”
“And smells the worst.”
“Yep.”
“You’re really focused.”
“Uh-huh.” The short words leave my lips right as I punch the Enter key, and I brace for the process to fail again. But it doesn’t. It works. “Done!” I throw a fist to the sky, and Parker lets out a relieved sigh.
“Two weeks of work done in an hour.”
“More like half an hour,” I correct. Then I lean back in the chair and fold my arms across my chest as Parker steps back, mirroring my own stance from a standing position. “What’s up?”
“I was just seeing what you were up to,” he replies, running his fingers through his hair. “You still volunteering at the shelter?”
“Yeah,” I answer him. “Why?”
“I don’t know…” His voice trails off, but there’s something there that I can’t put my finger on. Something is different in the way he’s looking at me. Like he’s expecting me to have some sort of specific response.
But I’m just as confused as ever.
“Who do you work with again?” he asks.
“Maria,” I tell him. “She’s become like a surrogate mom. She’s awesome, and her homemade enchiladas are to freaking die for.”
“Oh, that’s cool.” Parker’s voice is a little short, and I can tell there’s more he wants to say, he’s just not doing it. Which means it must contain some sort of feelings and emotions. Despite Amy breaking him out of his shell, he can still be a brick wall sometimes.
“Yeah … it is cool.” I decide to take a shot in the dark. “Are you jealous of the time I’m spending with the dogs? Because every time I ask you to hang out, you’re usually busy with Amy.”
“No.” He blows out a sharp breath of air. “I’m just … I’m…”
“You’re…?” I can’t help but grin at the way I have to coax it out of him like he’s a toddler who stole crayons or something. “Come on, Parker. Just say what you need to say. This is a safe place.”
He glares at me. “I was just trying to say that I’m proud of you.”
Okay, that’s not what I was expecting.
I shift in my chair. “For fixing Eddy’s mistake?”
“No,” he says plainly. “You fix mistakes here at work all the time. I mean, I’m proud of you for finding something that isn’t speed dating or singles events—something that’s actually yours.
You seem more … grounded lately. I think that’s good for you.
I know you want to find love, but I think you need to let the right one show up in your life, not be constantly seeking them out. ”
“Oh … yeah.”
I’ve been doing really well at avoiding the singles events, but I don’t know if it’s because something in me has actually shifted, or if I’m just putting all of my focus into something new because I don’t know what to do with Brittany yet.
“I just think it’s a good thing. But I will say, Amy appears to have made it her personal mission to match you up with someone. She keeps mentioning she wants to go on a double date.”
Oh no. No, no, no…
“She has a lot of new friends, now that she’s settled in. She’s the biggest extrovert I know; she literally makes friends with anyone and everyone.”
“Yeah, I don’t know about all that … I’m not really in a rush to get back into the dating scene.”
He gives me a look. “Well, just think about it.”
“Yeah, okay. I’ll … think about it.” I let out a sigh, then turn back to the computer, saving all the work I’ve done and clicking out of the program. “But I don’t know that I want to open that can of worms.”
“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.
One of 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’t talk to you in such a way, but I did take the time to create the very best sonnet I could muster.
Sonnet of Slight Foot-in-Mouthery:
I spake too sharp, and in my lawyer’s way. Did file thy hopes beneath “romantic strife.”
To say “desperate for love”—how graceless was that day! A blunder most unworthy of thy life.
For who seeks love commits no foolish sin, but shows a heart still open, brave, and kind.
While I—deflecting with a jaded grin—did leave compassion somewhere far behind.
Thy letters brought me mirth, thy thoughts sincere, a friendship rare, with ink and quirks well matched.
I miss thy tales of code and holidays dear—our parchment bond unfairly left unlatched.
If thou canst pardon words too quick, too rough, return, good friend—thy pen is missed enough.
Please consider my truce. I’m sorry for being so weird. Please don’t hate me forever. I miss you.
Sincerely,
Brittany
P.S. Should I quit my day job and become a poet? Let me know.
A grin spreads across my face as I set the letter back down on the counter. I can’t stop the warmth from spreading through my body.
She misses me. She actually misses me.