Chapter 26 Past #2
I unrolled the napkin from around the silverware that had been sitting on the table.
Using the butter knife, I slowly sliced open the envelope—careful not to tear the contents.
Gently, I unfolded the letter.
The stationery was familiar—
the same kind I’d seen sprawled across his desk the other night.
The entire page was filled.
His handwriting was smooth, steady, easy to read. I was sure it was a skill his mom had helped him perfect when he was a child—
and I smiled at the thought of that.
An even bigger smile began to bloom as I started reading.
I could almost hear his voice, soft and certain, narrating every word…
Hey, Honeysuckle,
I love ya.
I know that’s not how I should start this, but I just had to get it out.
I want to scream it from the rooftops—
’cause I do.
I love you.
I was so overcome with happiness I nearly shouted back to the paper, “I LOVE YOU TOO!”
But then I remembered—I was still sitting in the diner.
Neal thinking I was crazy would stop being a joke real quick if he caught me whispering sweet nothings to a piece of paper and an empty booth.
I looked up from the page—half expecting someone to be staring, like they’d heard the whole thing playing out in my head.
I went back to the words on the page but had to quickly stop as Neal arrived with my food.
He gave me a look—one that made me question, for a second, whether I had said something out loud.
But then it shifted a bit as he set the basket of food down.
In a tone more gravel than grin—less teasing than usual—he said,
“I thought you liked the younger Newsome boy?”
And just like that, I realized he wasn’t wondering if I’d lost my mind—
he was wondering why Nick had been the one sitting here… not Paul.
Neal was never one to hide his thoughts—
probably why Shay’s more refined folks preferred to eat at the club instead of here.
I quickly explained, maybe a little too quickly—making sure he heard me loud and clear:
I wasn’t stepping out on Paul.
Especially not with his older brother.
“Paul sent Nick to give me something,” I said, my eyes flicking toward the letter now being safely guarded under my hand.
Trying to ease the tension, I added,
“Paul missed curfew. He’s grounded.”
Like a dog who’d just chewed up his owner’s shoes, I hung my head in shame.
“Kinda my fault.” I said sheepishly.
When I looked back up, I gave Neal a tight, toothy grin—
the kind of expression a toddler makes when they’ve knocked over something breakable but aren’t sure yet if they’re in trouble.
I was hoping it would earn me a pass—
and that Neal wouldn’t follow up with one of his famously unwelcome lectures.
I braced for a “Now, Bri, I told you…” kind of look.
But that wasn’t what I got.
Neal’s face read more like a concerned father—
not for me, but for Paul.
He managed to force a smile and gave a quiet, unconvincing,
“Alright. You enjoy your food—ya hear?”
Then he set the red wire basket down in front of me and turned back toward the kitchen,
the weight of whatever he wasn’t saying trailing behind him.
I wanted to finish reading the letter—I could almost hear Paul’s voice slipping from the folds—
but something about the way Neal looked at me… like he knew more than he was saying…
made it feel like maybe this wasn’t the right place to finish it.
So, following the same crease lines, I folded the paper and slipped it back into the envelope. I folded it once more and slid it into my back pocket.
I wanted to sit with this moment a little longer—
to figure out why both Nick and Neal seemed to be hiding their concern about Paul.
Was he really fine?
Or was there more to the story?
What was I missing?
…
A pit began to form in my stomach.
Suddenly, my grease-soaked burger and fries—the ones I normally loved—didn’t seem like such a good idea.
I took a sip of my drink, hoping the bubbles would ease the dull ache in my chest.
They didn’t.
I think the only thing that can… is Paul.
I wasn’t sure how much longer I could sit here alone with my thoughts.
Molly was exceptionally late now—though I wasn’t too worried about that.
She’d mentioned something about her and her aunt possibly making a detour to the big shopping center in Nashville.
Still, as much as I know she loves shopping…
I could really use her right now.
She’d roll her eyes; tell me I was overthinking it—that the only thing I should be worried about is how I just ruined a perfectly good burger with mayonnaise.
She’d also probably threaten to eat all my fries if I didn’t shut up and get started before, they went soggy.
Even from hundreds of miles away, she could still help me relax.
The thought of her Southern reprimand brought me back to a better place.
I picked up my burger and took a bite, trying to force the thoughts out of my mind.
As I chewed, I started talking myself off the ledge.
“I’m overreacting—it’s nothing.”
With every bite of greasy burger, the crunch of a fry, my mind started to settle.
I could almost hear my mom’s voice—soft and teasing—like she always did after one of my dramatic, world-ending teenage meltdowns:
“See? You were just hungry.”
I laughed to myself again—
I polished off the fries and burger, leaving only a grease-covered, red-and-white checkered wrapper in the tray.
I took one last, long sip of my drink before standing.
At the counter, I paid for my food and left Neal a little more of a tip than usual—he’d get me for that later.
Then I stepped out the door, being greeted by a flash of dry heat—I started heading home so I could get ready for work.