Little Lost Love Letter: A Romantic Comedy Novella Page 10

  He’s being sweet, but all I can think about is what the woman said—that Ryland told his friend that I’m the worst secretary he’s ever had.

  The awful part is I don’t have any room to be upset, not after I wrote that letter. But it still hurts something terrible.

  I give him a weak smile. “I’ve got everything I need.”

  “Are you sure?” he asks, looking worried, like maybe he can sense it’s something more serious than a headache plaguing me.

  “Yeah, go.”

  Ryland glances at the door, frowning. “Breanna will kill me if I ditch the rehearsal.”

  “I don’t want to ruin everything.” My eyes sting as I say the words, but hopefully, he’ll think my expression is from the headache. “Go before you’re late.”

  “Are you positive you’re all right?”

  I nod, gulping back my shame.

  “Okay.” He looks hesitant as he heads for the door. “I’ll check on you when I’m back.”

  “All right.”

  Ryland pauses by the door, pressing his lips into a thin line like he’s about to change his mind. But after a long, reluctant moment, he steps into the hall, and the door closes with a soft click behind him.

  Alone, I curl on the bed and stare at the wall, wishing I hadn’t agreed to come with him this weekend.

  17

  Ryland

  The rehearsal is long, and the dinner is longer. All night, Ree tries to hang on me, and I’m in no mood to put up with her advances. Unfortunately, she ends up in the seat next to me.

  We’ve finally made it to dessert. Ree sits at my left, silently pouting.

  I check my phone again, hoping to hear from Lucy. But there are no calls or texts. Hopefully, she’s sleeping.

  Chad’s brother decides to make an impromptu speech, possibly forgetting he has another to make tomorrow. People around me laugh and clap, but I drum my fingers on the tablecloth, wondering if it’s too soon to excuse myself.

  My phone vibrates, and I nearly fumble it as I look at the screen.

  “Waiting for something important?” Ree asks, glancing over curiously. “You’ve been checking your phone all night.”

  The text is from Tyler, not Lucy.

  “My date isn’t feeling well,” I tell her, deciding it’s time I leave. “I need to go.”

  Ree rolls her eyes, a little too free after several glasses of wine. “Your date? I think you mean your secretary.”

  “She’s both.” I’m growing increasingly agitated with Chad’s sister as the night wears on.

  Ree drapes her arm on the table and sets her chin in her palm. “Are you paying her overtime?”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You know, when you bring your secretary to these sorts of things, I believe the work title changes to escort.”

  I grip my phone, taking my irritation out on it. “That’s enough, Ree.”

  She lets out a mirthless laugh and takes another sip of her wine. “That hit a nerve, didn’t it?”

  Instead of answering, I stand. Before I can leave, she grasps hold of my arm. “No, stay. I’ll behave myself—unless you’d prefer I didn’t. You don’t even have to pay me to keep you company.”

  I shake her hand off and leave the table. Before I reach the doors, Chad stops me.

  “You’re leaving already?” he asks.

  “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  He glances at his sister, who glares at me through narrowly slitted eyes, and he groans. “Breanna was worried Ree was going to cause trouble. Sorry, Devlin.”

  “It’s not your fault.”

  I breathe a little easier when I leave the private dining room. On my way to my car, I look at my phone again.

  Still nothing.

  I almost call, but what if Lucy is sleeping? She looked like she felt horrible earlier.

  I shouldn’t have left her. What’s the point of a wedding rehearsal anyway? We stand where they tell us to stand; we walk when they tell us to walk. It’s all fairly straightforward.

  When I reach the hotel, I go up to Lucy’s room and pause outside the door.

  What if she’s asleep?

  But what if she’s not?

  I decide to knock quietly, hoping I won’t wake her if she is resting. A few moments later, Lucy opens the door.

  She’s dressed in purple yoga pants, a massive white t-shirt, and her hair is up in a bun at the top of her head. It’s a messy look, but it’s no surprise she pulls it off.

  When her eyes land on me, she frowns. “The rehearsal dinner is already over?”

  “I left early.”

  She wrinkles her nose. “Why?”

  I hold up my phone. “Because this has been silent all evening, and I was worried about you.”

  Her eyes move to the shopping bag I’m holding in my other hand. “What’s all that?”

  I offer her the bag. “Ibuprofen, acetaminophen, aspirin, some natural headache balm that smells like weeds, and a soda—in case you need some caffeine.”

  She frowns at the contents of the bag. “Are you trying to kill me? Surely you don’t expect me to take all that at once.”

  I smile. “How are you feeling?”

  She looks back up, seeming unsure. “I never had a headache.”

  “What?”

  Stepping away from the door, she jerks her head, silently informing me I’m supposed to follow her inside.

  After setting the bag on the small table, she sits in one of the chairs and pulls her legs up, crossing them in front of her.

  She can’t even sit in a chair like a normal person.

  I take the seat across from her, wanting to smile at the thought, but I’m too concerned.

  “I don’t think this is going to work,” she says.

  I narrow my eyes. “What’s not going to work?”

  She motions between us.

  “We’ve been away from Phoenix less than twelve hours and apart for more than half of those,” I say. “How could you come to that conclusion so quickly?”

  “You think I’m a mess,” she says, and her eyes look tired—like she’s been thinking about this for too long. “And we both know what I had to say about you in the note you’ve been pretending you didn’t read for the last week.”

  “When did I say you were a mess?” I demand, refusing to acknowledge the second half of her statement just yet.

  “I overheard your friend’s fiancée and one of her bridesmaids talking about it at the café next door. They weren’t exactly complimentary.”

  I rack my brain, trying to remember when I said such a thing. And then it hits me—the day after Carina had Hayden, right after she left the office. I talked to Chad.

  But that was then. Now…well, I still think Lucy’s a mess. The girl stapled her finger for crying out loud. But she’s a mess I care about.

  “I’m sorry you heard that,” I tell her. “I won’t deny it—I said it when you first started. I was frustrated to lose Carina, and you and I didn’t seem like we’d mesh well. But I don’t feel that way now.”

  “You said I was the worst secretary you’ve ever had.”

  I cross my arms and sit back in the chair. “And you said I create schedules to make myself feel important.”

  “I knew you read it.” Lucy winces and looks away. “I don’t remember exactly how I phrased everything. I said that?”

  “I can refresh your memory.” I pull my wallet from my back pocket and produce the folded note from within. Silently, I hand it to Lucy.

  Looking shocked, she accepts the paper. “You’ve been carrying it with you?”

  Unrepentant, I shrug.

  Her face goes white as she reads her hastily scratched words. Once she’s finished, she folds the paper again and clutches it in her lap as if wishing she could make it disappear.

  “Was any of it true?” I ask.

  Slowly, as if she’s forcing herself, Lucy meets my eyes. “It’s all true, but…I was angry.”

  I extend my hands, silently
asking her to explain to me how it’s different.

  “I’m sorry,” she mumbles, staring at the note as she rotates it in her hands. “I never meant for you to read it.”

  I lean forward, snatching the note back before she can realize what I’m doing. She protests, but it’s too late. It’s already in my hands.

  “Why are you keeping it?” she demands.

  “Because it’s mine—you put my name on it, didn’t you?”

  “Yes, but—”

  “Then I get to keep it.”

  Lucy gives me a frustrated look, one that brings out the worst in me.

  Leaning back in the uncomfortable hotel room chair, I wave the note in the air. “If you want it, come get it.”

  18

  Lucy

  “Are you twelve?” I demand.

  Ryland’s eyes spark with amusement. “Are you scared?”

  I shake my head, looking away. What is he doing? Why is he flirting while I try to break up with him? Doesn’t he know how this sort of thing works?

  “You’re not even going to try?” he asks casually, opening his wallet and returning the note.

  I eye him, unsure what to say.

  “Maybe I need better bait.” He shoves the wallet into his pocket and then turns to the table, drawing the hotel stationery and pen to him.

  I watch too intently as he begins to write. I can’t make out most of it, but I can see my name written at the top…like he’s writing me a letter.

  My pulse quickens, and my chest goes warm. As bait goes, it’s a good one.

  What’s he writing?

  I refuse to leave my seat, but my eyes are glued to the movement of the pen. Several long minutes later, Ryland tears the paper from the pad, and then he reads it over. He glances up at me, his gray eyes smug and too inviting. “This is what we call proofreading, Lucy. It’s what we do before we let someone see our work.”

  “You got the rough draft,” I say icily. “I’ll be sure to polish the next before you read it.”

  He grins as he folds the paper in half and writes my name across the front. Then he turns, his expression wicked, and waves the paper in the air. “Do you want to read it?”

  I cross my arms. “No.”

  Leaning forward, he fans the note just out of reach. “Not even a little bit?”

  My fingers itch to snatch it from him, but something tells me he’s faster than I am. I’ll miss and look stupid.

  “If you want me to read it, give it to me.”

  “If you want to read it, you have to come here.”

  Ryland extends his hand a fraction closer, just enough I think I can swipe it from him. Quickly, I dart forward. My fingers close over the note at the same time his arm wraps around my waist. I let out an embarrassing squeal as he pulls me onto his lap.

  “What are you doing?” I demand, trying to pull away.

  Refusing to release me, Ryland nuzzles the side of my neck, and every one of my nerve endings catches fire. “Read the letter, Lucy.”

  I swallow hard, reluctantly meeting his eyes over my shoulder. He raises his brows, silently informing me he’ll hold me here until I give in. Perhaps I should be irritated, but all I can think about is the sensation of being in his arms. Ryland could kiss me if he wanted—I don’t think I’d have the willpower to stop him.

  “Go on,” he coaxes, and his words tickle my neck. I shiver, and I’m sure he can feel it as it travels down my spine.

  My hand trembles as I open the note, afraid of what I might find inside. The writing is tiny and precise. None of it is scratched out, and I’m sure he was concise and to the point. If we were in school, Ryland would surely be the teacher’s pet.

  Dear Miss Lennox,

  I will not call you Lucy in my therapy letter because I know how “Miss Lennox” affects you, and I like having that small win.

  You, no doubt, already know how you frustrate me. I detest your music and your pen cup. You always question me; you always argue.

  “A semi-colon,” I say dryly. “Someone was feeling fancy.”

  “Keep reading.”

  You’re a distraction in the office. I find myself watching you constantly, smiling when you smile, laughing when you laugh. I make excuses to talk to you when I should be working. I think of you in the morning, before I come to the office, and at night, before I go to bed. I wonder what you’re doing and who you’re with.

  I wonder if you’re thinking of me—hoping that you are.

  You are sunshine in my fluorescent world, fresh air and light and laughter.

  I’m sorry I hurt you. I’m sorry I didn’t show you how I appreciate how hard you’ve worked. I see it, I do.

  I see you.

  And I adore you—exactly as you are.

  Best wishes (and I mean them),

  Ryland

  PS: I haven’t had the opportunity to properly evaluate your kissing prowess, so if you’re genuinely interested in an evaluation, we’re going to have to step up our game.

  Ryland rests his chin on my shoulder, not realizing I’ve made it to the end. I stare at the paper as if still reading, and tears prick my eyes.

  “Well?” he finally asks, sensing I’m finished.

  “As apologies go, it’s a good one,” I murmur. I slowly turn in his arms, meeting his eyes. “Do you hate my pen cup that much?”

  “I loathe it,” he says solemnly, making me smile.

  “You have issues,” I say.

  And then I kiss him.

  Ryland draws in a surprised breath, but he recovers quickly. His lips are soft against mine, and he returns my kiss slowly as if he’s in no rush.

  My hands fall to his shoulders, and his settle at my sides. His palms are warm through the cotton of my t-shirt. Absently, I realize I must look like a mess, but Ryland doesn’t seem to care.

  He breaks the kiss just long enough to pull the elastic from my hair. It falls down my back in long, unruly waves. He twines his fingers through it, tipping my head just slightly to the side before he peppers my neck with featherlight kisses.

  I sigh as I clutch his shoulders. “You know, you’re even better in real life than you are in my daydreams.”

  That makes him pause. He looks up, giving me a quizzical look.

  I flash him a mischievous smile. “You wouldn’t believe all the places I’ve imagined us making out—on your desk. On my desk. Copy machine. Break room counter. Elevator.”

  Ryland laughs softly and drops a kiss in front of my ear. “So that’s where you go when your mind wanders?”

  “You’re terribly distracting, Mr. Devlin,” I tease. “How is a girl supposed to focus on her job when you’re her boss?”

  He scoffs, but his eyes are bright. “That’s a clever way of turning it all on me.”

  Laughing, I lean in for more. Ryland deepens the kiss, demanding more, giving more.

  “I want to act out all your daydreams, Lucy,” he says against my lips. “Each one, and all the ones you have in the future.”

  I bury my forehead against the crook of his neck and wrap my arms around him. It’s too soon to say love, but I feel myself toeing the edge.

  We stay like this, clinging to each other in the uncomfortable chair, kissing and talking and kissing some more, until the hour is late.

  “I’ll see you at the wedding,” Ryland says before he reluctantly leaves. “You won’t ditch me this time, will you?”

  I smile. “I’ll be there, I promise.”

  19

  Ryland

  I haven’t seen Lucy all morning. Breanna gave me strict instructions to be at the church early, so we came separately. I can’t help but look for her when my fellow groomsmen and I filter to the front of the church. I scan the crowd, wondering where she’s sitting, worried she might have pulled a disappearing act like last night even though she promised she’d be here.

  My attention is forced toward the ceremony when the flower girl and ring bearer begin down the aisle. Breanna’s bridesmaids follow. Ree studiously
ignores me, which is just fine. Then the wedding march begins, and everyone stands.

  Breanna and her father begin down the aisle.

  The ceremony is short compared to others I’ve attended, and soon, we’re free to leave. Breanna and Chad walk down the aisle, beaming as their friends and family cheer. After the maid of honor and best man make their exit, I meet Breanna’s sister.

  As we hurry down the aisle, I once more scan the crowd, looking for Lucy. She’s nowhere to be seen.

  Pictures follow the ceremony, and then we stand in the receiving line as people congratulate the new bride and groom. By the time we’re finished, my feet are sore, I’m tired of smiling, and I’m desperate to check my phone and see if Lucy has texted.

  “I was right about something the very first time I met you—you look good in a tux.”

  Relieved, I turn and find Lucy. My breath hitches when I see her standing in her gray dress. It hugs her curves, making me think thoughts not entirely appropriate for the setting.

  Looking a little nervous, she gestures to it. “Well, what do you think? Too much?”

  “It’s perfect.” I draw her next to me. “Where have you been hiding?”

  “I’ve been trying to stay out of the way,” she says quietly, shooting Breanna an uncertain look.

  Breanna happens to look over at the same moment. “Ryland, I finally get to meet your date—”

  Chad’s new wife cuts off abruptly when she sees Lucy.

  Lucy offers her a timid smile. “Congratulations.”

  Breanna presses a hand to her stomach, looking almost ill. “You were at the coffee shop.”

  Lucy nods.

  “You sat right next to us. You must have heard… I’m so sorry.”

  “It’s all right,” Lucy assures her, and then she quickly adds, “The wedding was beautiful.”

  A hesitant smile passes over Breanna’s face as she turns to me. “Why don’t you introduce us, Ryland?”

  I take Lucy’s hand and lace our fingers together. “Lucy, this is Breanna. Breanna, this is Lucy. Don’t let her near the cake—she’s terribly accident-prone.”