However, when he saw the white envelope sticking out of a tree stump ahead—an envelope with his name looping across the front—he had a feeling the day was about to get even more peculiar.
And he was right.
* * *
“Oh Jesus!” Hallie cried into the phone. “Oh Jesus. You’re not going to believe this.”
“Quiet down. Someone has stabbed me through the fuckin’ eye with a high heel,” Lavinia screeched back, clearly neck-deep in her own hangover. “What has you in a state?”
“Lavinia, I want to die.”
“Me too, currently.” Her friend’s voice was now muffled by a pillow. “I’m suspecting for a different reason. State your business or I’m hanging up.”
“I wrote the letter,” Hallie scream-whispered into the phone, just as she reached her truck. She threw herself inside and slammed the door, her pulse frenetic, stomach roiling. “I wrote Julian a secret admirer letter last night after dinner and I left it for him to find. I wrote it in the back of an Uber. I’m pretty sure I even asked the driver for advice and he said don’t do it. Don’t do it, crazy passenger. But I did. I left it for him on the jogging path, and unless it blew away, he’s in the process of finding it right now.”
“I can’t believe you did that. You swore you wouldn’t.”
“I can’t be expected to make promises under the influence of pasta and wine!”
“You’re right. I shouldn’t have trusted your word.” A couch groaned in the background. Lavinia’s voice was clearer when she spoke again. “There’s no way to do damage control?”
“No. I mean, I didn’t sign my name, obviously. I think, anyway?”
“That would seriously defeat the purpose of a secret admirer letter.”
Her phone dinged to signal a text message. Julian’s Netflix login.
He’d saved her from a troll in tweed, rekindled her belief in good deeds and noble men, made her heart beat like it had finally remembered how, and given her his Netflix password—which was “calendar,” by the way—and in return, she’d word-vomited her admiration of him in a torrent of compulsiveness.
“I can’t even remember what I wrote!” Hallie dropped her forehead onto the steering wheel. “Please tell me the morning dew blurred the ink or the whole thing blew away. Please tell me that’s possible and Julian Vos isn’t reading my drunken ramblings right now.”
Lavinia’s pause lasted a beat too long. “I’m sure it blew away, babe.”
“No way I’m that lucky, huh?”
“Doubt it.” There was a muffled voice in the background. “Got to go. Jerome needs help with the rush. Keep me posted, Shakespeare!”
Hallie took a deep breath and let the disconnected phone drop to her lap, staring into a void. What was she going to do?
Nothing. That’s what. Sit tight and hope. That if the letter didn’t get caught in the wind, nothing she said in those paragraphs could identify her. For all she remembered, she might have actually labeled the envelope with her home address. God.
Okay. Tomorrow she was scheduled to be back at the Vos guesthouse to do some planting. She’d just have to remain in the dark until then—and then she’d either be granted a reprieve. Or her feelings for Julian would no longer be her innocent little secret.
Chapter Seven
Julian stared down at the letter, his eyebrows dangerously close to being swallowed up by his hairline.
Dear Julian Vos,
Oh my God. I can’t believe I’m really doing this.
You get one shot at life, though, right? Have to pull that trigger!
Okay. Seriously, though. I think you’re wonderful. Really, truly wonderful. I’ve been dying to get that off my chest for a very long time, but I didn’t have the guts. You’ve always been so quietly kind, never lording your name over anyone or acting superior, you know what I mean? Just a real down-to-earth fellow with brains to burn and a big, secret heart.
I wish I’d told you all of this a million years ago, because when you feel something, you should just say it! You know? I don’t want you to think I’m creepy (of course you’re going to think I’m creepy, I mean, look what I’m doing), but way back when, in days of yore, I witnessed your character when you didn’t think anyone was watching and it really inspired how I’ve treated other people throughout my life. Mostly! I’m not perfect. Sometimes I hang up on telemarketers. But I hope you’re happy and healthy and headed for the kind of happy future you deserve. I used the word “happy” twice there, sorry, but you get up what I’m putting down.
Okay! This was great. Let’s do it again sometime. Maybe you’ll write back? You’re never too old for a pen pal. I’m sure that’s the generally held belief on the subject.
Secretly Yours
Julian lifted his head. “What the fuck?”
A secret admirer letter?
He turned the envelope over in his hands, searched the back of the paper for some sign of the prankster’s identity—because that’s definitely what this was. A prank. But there were no clues to point him in the direction of the person apparently trying to mess with him.