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“No need. Eloise was a true friend. I’d do anything for her.” He smiled. “And that extends to you. Just let me know if you need anything, okay?”
“I will, Hank.”
“The Mrs. wants you to pick a night to come over for dinner this week. She’ll make that seafood casserole you like.”
“I’d love that. I’ll text her and work it out.” I smiled.
After he left, I made some lunch and ate it out on one of the Adirondack chairs in the yard. The August heat was a bit much, so I didn’t last long.
When I went back inside, I decided to sort through some of that mail Hank had been piling up for the past couple of years.
Like he said, there were several sympathy cards. And I smiled at how many Victoria’s Secret catalogs there were. Why Hank didn’t just toss those, I wasn’t sure. Maybe he’d enjoyed them.
I paused on an envelope addressed to me. Unlike the cards with my name on them, this looked more like a letter. When I caught sight of the name on the return address label, I nearly had a heart attack: Leo Covington. I froze, and the envelope slipped out of my hands. My heart kicked into high gear.
As I bent to pick up the envelope, I looked more closely at the line under my name: Care of Eloise Angelini. He knew the only way to reach me was through her, since he’d never had my address.
Oh my God. How long has this been sitting here?
I was terrified to open it. My lunch felt like it might reappear, and the room seemed to sway.
My hand trembled as I took the letter over to the couch and shakily opened the envelope. The paper was thick and cream-colored, and the words were written in blue ink.
Dear Felicity,
I don’t even know where to begin, but I should probably start with: “How are you? It’s been a long time, eh?”
I sincerely hope this letter finds you well. I’m certain you weren’t expecting it. I can honestly tell you I wasn’t expecting to write it.
But here goes.
As I sit here alone in my room, there are over a hundred people downstairs celebrating me. And all I’ve wanted to do the entire evening is escape. Thoughts of you are particularly heavy today. That’s nothing new—it just doesn’t normally happen until I lay my head on the pillow at night and close my eyes. It’s always you I’m thinking of in that moment.
I sometimes wonder if it’s only me feeling like this. I wonder if you still think about me as much as I think about you. I told myself I wasn’t going to contact you, that nothing good could come of it after so long. This isn’t the first time I’ve broken my vow not to try to reach you, though. I tried calling you about a month ago but couldn’t get through to your phone.
I had to stop reading for a moment. That hurt my heart so much. A couple of years ago, I’d gotten rid of my old cell phone and switched to a new phone and number my law firm had given me. While I did transfer all of Leo’s information into my new phone, if he’d tried to reach me at the old number, I wouldn’t have known. When I left my job, I’d kept the number of my corporate phone, but switched to a personal plan.
I continued reading.
I have no other way to reach you, so I’m writing this letter in the hopes that you receive it. Felicity, the truth is I still love you. And in case it wasn’t clear that I felt that way, I did fall deeply in love with you that summer. On some level, I knew that when I left. But I hadn’t realized the extent of it until we weren’t together anymore. There are still moments where I long for you more than for the air I breathe. They happen at very random times—I’ll suddenly smell something that reminds me of you. Or see a flash of red hair on the streets of London and think for one insane second that you changed your mind and came for me, only to realize it was just a fleeting delusion.
I’m still in love with you, or at least the memory of you. As for the reasons we supposedly couldn’t be together—nothing has changed in that regard. My life in no way fits with yours. I’m all wrong for you in every way—aside from the fact that I love you. If you’re still reading this and haven’t crumpled it into a ball out of frustration, you’re probably wondering why I’m telling you all of this. Why now…after all this time has passed?
Well, here it is: I’m getting married, Felicity. My father is dying. He fought a good battle over the past several years, but there’s nothing more they can do. They’ve stopped all treatments, and he only has about six months left to live, if we’re lucky. As was always the plan, I want to give him the peace I know he needs. He wants to know I’m settled and that I’m going to follow through with his wishes, continuing the family name and business.
