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“Speaking of your first letter, I recently went through all my boxes and came across it. I’m holding it in my pocket today as my own ‘something old.’”
“Really?”
He reached inside and took it out before unfolding it.
Shock crossed his face. “My God.”
“What?”
“I never noticed this. Look at the date, Luca. Holy shit. Look at the date!”
It was today’s date—exactly twenty years ago.
My mouth hung open. “We’re getting married two decades to the day of the very first time I ever wrote you.”
“And we had no idea when we picked this date for our wedding. I’d say that’s pretty damn amazing.”
I had no recollection of what I’d written that very first time. I looked down at that fateful letter and smiled as I read it.Dear Griffin,
You don’t know me, but my teacher gave me your name. I’m Luca. I think you’re looking for a pen pal? Would you want to be mine?
I’m seven, live in New York, love black licorice and dancing.
I would love to know what it’s like in England. Do you have black licorice there? I heard people drive on the opposite side of the road. That is so weird!Your pen pal (?),
LucaP.S. Mrs. Ryan showed me a list of kids, and I picked your name, Griffin Quinn. I don’t know why. Maybe because my mom watches that show Dr. Quinn, Medicine Woman. But you stuck out. It was just a feeling I had that you were it—my pen pal. My dad always says to trust your gut. My gut loves black licorice. And my gut tells me we’re going to be friends, Griffin. I really hope you write back.
