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Julian nodded, grateful she didn’t seem inclined to make a huge deal out of his last name. “Of course.” She chewed her lip as if waffling. Perhaps scared to be hopeful? So he added, “Your shop is a landmark. If you haven’t been here, you haven’t been to St. Helena.”
The older woman’s eyes sparkled at him. “You’re damn right.”
That competitive streak of his was ticking like a metronome. “Actually, I’ll take a few bottles to go now.” He winked at her. “In case I get thirsty on the walk home.”
Which is how Julian found himself in the neighboring yoga studio eight minutes later, handing bottles to the men and women emerging from class. “Lorna sent these,” he explained to the sweaty and confused people.
They traded perplexed glances. “Who?”
“Lorna,” he said again, as if they should know. “From Corked. Next door. The longest-standing wine store in St. Helena. No trip to Napa is complete without it.” He smiled at the girl behind the counter. “I’ll drop off some business cards for you to hand out.”
When Julian left the yoga studio and restarted his watch, his shoulders were lighter. He continued down Grapevine Way for a while, past the health spa and several cafés. As he got farther from the center of town, the shops he passed were more for the locals. Pizzerias and a dance school for children. A car wash and a donut shop named after Judge Judy, which he could not find fault with. And that’s where he turned right and cut down the wooded path leading to Vos Vineyard. Another three-quarters of a mile and he’d be at the guesthouse. Sure, he had a slight wine buzz, but he wouldn’t let it postpone his shower, and then it would be straight to work—
Up ahead, a square, white object, totally out of place among the greenery, snagged his attention. Julian stopped so abruptly, his sneakers kicked up a dust cloud.
No way. Not again.
Another envelope. With his name on it. Stuck in the crack of a tree stump.
Standing in the center of the path, he looked around, positive he’d find Natalie hiding and snickering behind a bush. Apparently she hadn’t gotten the prank out of her system yet. But she must have come and gone a while ago, because he was quite obviously alone there, no sound save the afternoon breeze sweeping down off the mountain. What kind of bullshit had his sister written this time?
Shaking his head, Julian plucked the letter out of the stump—and immediately noticed the handwriting was the same as last time, but more controlled. And the further he got into the correspondence, the more it became clear Natalie had not written it.
Dear Julian,
There is something so easy about an anonymous letter. It puts less pressure on both of us. There is less fear of rejection. I can be totally honest, and if you never write back, at least I let out the words that have been trapped in my head.
They’re your problem now—sorry.
(Forget what I said about less pressure.)
When you run down Grapevine Way in the afternoons, a solitary figure on a mission, I wonder how you feel about your solitude. If it’s the same way I feel about being alone. There’s so much space to think. To consider where I’ve been and where I’m going. I wonder if I’m who I’m meant to be or if I’m just too distracted to keep evolving. Sometimes it’s overwhelming. Do you ever get overwhelmed with the silence or are you as content in the solitude as you seem?
What would it be like to know you completely?
Does anyone know you completely?
I’ve been loved by someone for all my faults. It’s a wonderful feeling. Maybe you want that for yourself. Or maybe you don’t. But you’re worthy of it, in case you’re wondering.
This is getting too personal coming from a stranger. It’s just that I don’t truly know you. So I can only be honest and hope something inside you . . . hears me.
I’m sorry if you found this letter strange or even terrifying. If so, please know that I meant the opposite. And if nothing comes from this, your main takeaway should be that someone out here thinks about you, in the best way possible, even on your worst day.
Secretly Yours
Julian finished the letter and immediately read it again, the tempo of his pulse increasing steadily. This letter was nothing like the last. It was more serious in tone. Earnest. And despite the oddness of finding a letter on his jogging path, he couldn’t help but respond to the wistful tone woven into the words. No way Natalie wrote this, right? He couldn’t imagine his sister taking an emotional deep dive like this, even for a joke.
The envelope was bone-dry, meaning it hadn’t been there since last night. The morning dew would have dampened it, at the very least. Although noon had come and gone, Natalie was asleep when he left for the run, plus there had been two empty wine bottles on the kitchen counter, neither of which he’d had a single glass from. He supposed his sister might have battled through a hangover to prank him—she’d never lacked dedication. And she would have had opportunity, since he’d run for nearly half an hour, plus his pit stop at Corked.
