Signed, Sealed, Delivered: A brother’s best friend / anonymous penpal romance (Wells Family)

Age 23:

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Lil,

I have been on, I kid you not, ten dates in the last two months, and nothing ever clicks. Am I being too picky? Or maybe my standards are too high. Idk. I swear every single date is the EXACT SAME. We start with a bit of awkward small talk. She mentions something about her job. I mention mine. Then we eat in peace. They’re all just…fine, I guess? Nothing wrong with these women: beautiful, sweet, good manners. And I’ve even kissed a few (I know. Don’t judge), but I don’t feel anything. I mean zilch.

I blame you for raising my standards. You’re cool and easy to talk to and don’t take yourself too seriously. And the rom-coms you make me watch help too. I dunno. I hope one day I find someone who makes me laugh when I need it the most. Or someone who takes me at my worst?

It’s very late, and I’m tired and rambling. Overall: I’m sick of going out on dates that lead nowhere. I want to get serious. I want someone to take me seriously.

You wouldn’t happen to have a super-hot sister who acts just like you, would you? Family dinners would be very interesting, lol.

Anyway, night, Lil.

Shiny

***

It’s an odd thing, to wake up in the middle of the night to a beautiful woman rifling through your underwear drawer.

It took me a solid two minutes, judging by the alarm clock next to my head, to fully comprehend what was happening here. At first, when I saw a dark figure opening drawer after drawer, I had accepted my fate, figuring this was the weirdest sleep paralysis demon ever, and that at any moment, I would start screaming for help.

But when said demon stubbed its toe on the corner of my great-grandmother’s dresser and yelped, I realized it was Calla. She was wearing pink pajama pants with lemons all over them and a huge black hoodie that fell to her knees. Wells #23 was printed on the back.

She whimpered and held her bare foot with one hand while opening my underwear drawer with the other. She lifted a pair of black boxer briefs like they were in the way and continued her search.

I cleared my throat, and she jumped like a skittish cat.

“The really sexy stuff is in the back.” I propped myself up against my headboard, watching her watch me.

She dropped her shoulders in relief and whispered, “I need to borrow your car.”

I scratched my jawline, the stubble across it grazing my fingertips, and whispered back. “Why are you whispering? We’re both awake now.”

She stood straighter, slamming the drawer closed. “Oh, you’re right.” This response was at a normal volume. “Where are your keys?”

I squinted at her. “Absolutely not. I’ve seen the rims on your car, and I don’t trust you with Bessie.”

“Bessie?” She tilted her head. “You call your Rav4 Bessie?”

I shrugged. “Luke named her.”

With a nod, she pursed her lips. “Makes sense. Alrighty. Hand me those keys, mister.” She stuck her hand out as if I’d magically changed my mind.

“Layla said you ran over a curb the other day. Nearly took your bumper off, and you just said ‘whoopsies.’”

She didn’t even try to deny it. Only kept her hand held out.

When I stayed put, arms crossed and glaring at her palm, she threw her head back and groaned.

“Come on. My car won’t start and it’s raining and I really need a Philly cheesesteak.”

I tilted my head. “Why won’t your car start?”

“Do I look like a mechanic?”

I took in her oversized pajamas and the way her hair was haphazardly thrown into some odd updo with little stray hairs poking out around her ears. God, even when she was a mess, she captivated every part of me.

“No, you look like a homeless panty raider.”

Calla snorted. “If I was a panty raider, then I would be severely disappointed by what is in those drawers. Not a tighty-whitey to be found.” She clicked her tongue. “Shame, really.”

A loud, thundering clap interrupted my chance to respond. The weather had been awful when we left the community center after lessons. I had to stick her camera bag up my shirt to keep it dry while she ran full speed to her car through all the puddles. She didn’t even try to avoid them, like it was a game to her.

I shook my head. “You’re not driving in this weather. Especially so late.”

She stomped her foot like a child, which made it incredibly hard to take her seriously. “I won’t hurt your car.”

“It’s not the car I’m worried about,” I said, crossing my arms over my chest.

I hadn’t meant to say it so harshly, but it was true. A car was just a car. But if I let her drive in this, and she got hurt, I’d never forgive myself.

Calla straightened, her mouth agape and her lips drooping slightly. A red-hot sensation crept up from my bare chest, which Calla must have noticed, because her eyes crept down to my exposed abdomen before widening and darting back up to my face. Not much shocked her, but truth be told, I enjoyed the look on her face at that moment.

I broke eye contact, glancing at the clock beside me. It was 1:38 a.m.

“Is anything even open right now?” I rubbed my eyes, trying to avoid glancing at her with fondness again.

“Liberty Bell on tenth. They’re open twenty-four seven. I’m always stopping in at weird hours.”

I took my hands off my face and gaped at her. “You go to tenth by yourself in the middle of the night? Calla, you cannot do that.”

She shrugged, like that knowledge wouldn’t be keeping me up at night for the rest of my life. “I’m a big girl. I can handle myself.” She patted her chest, which drew my attention to her petite frame. She couldn’t protect herself from a squirrel, but if I told her that, she would probably hit me with the bat sitting beside my bed.

So I sat up further and tossed my blankets aside, exposing my blue plaid pajama pants.

“All right, killer. Let’s go, then.”

Calla bounced on her heels. “Are you coming with me?” Her tone was so sweet, so thrilled at the thought of me joining her on this midnight trip to a hole-in-the-wall sandwich shop.

I stood and stretched my arms above my head. “Yup, I’m gonna need a bodyguard if I’m out getting sketchy subs in the night.”

She stood firm while I shuffled to my closet to grab a long-sleeve shirt and toss it over my head.

“I will protect you with my life, sir.” She bowed her head, wearing a faux-serious expression.

“Come on, BG.” I bumped her arm with my elbow as I passed her on the way.

My keys were hung on the hook by the door, just like they always were. Until now. After tonight, it was obvious I’d have to hide them from Calla to keep her from attempting any more of these late-night food runs. Maybe I’d hide hers too. Just pull them back out for her every morning.

And that was how I ended up in my car with an incredibly large and messy Philly cheesesteak on my plate, a.k.a. my lap, and Calla in my passenger seat singing “Girls Just Wanna Have Fun” at the top of her lungs like it was her full-time job.

A month ago, I never would’ve believed I’d be in this position. Or that Calla would feel comfortable enough to be in a car alone with me. Seriously. A year ago, when she stopped over to see Luke, I waved bye to her with my pinkie. My pinkie. The girl had always brought out the weirdest parts of me.

“Didn’t you watch that UFO documentary on Netflix? Of course they’re real.”

Calla pointed to the sky above us through my windshield. “Look how many stars there are. You don’t believe there are other living creatures out there? We’re a teeny, tiny blip in the existence of the universe.”

Laughing, I held my hands up in defense. “I didn’t say they weren’t real. I said they’re not what we think they are.”

“Oh yeah? And what are they?”

I shrugged. “Who knows? I just think they’re already here and they aren’t little green guys who can’t open doors. They’re far more intelligent than us. The government’s just been feeding us lies so we won’t all frantically run around like ants.”

“Speaking of lies, you’re sitting on a throne of lies.” Calla pointed her entire sub at me accusingly.

I looked down at the leather seat below me. “I am?”

She took a big bite and nodded. “Yes. You told me you were terrible with beautiful women.” She spoke around the food, her cheeks puffed out. “And yet you were over there laughing it up and being all smooth with single mom Barbie.”

I let out a nervous laugh. “Nah.” I dipped my chin to hide the pink splotches dancing on my cheeks.

She cocked her head and pursed her lips and sent me a look, sandwich halfway to her mouth. “Yeah, right.” She scoffed. “You were all suave, Mr. Casanova, over there.” She bumped her elbow against my arm.

I couldn’t help but laugh again, tilting my head down, but I didn’t have the first clue how to respond.

She dipped her chin and affected a deep tone. “Hey, babe. Let me show you how good I am at guitar.” She lifted her right arm in a flexing motion. “Yeah, I work out too. Ugh.”

I lost it the minute she tried to waggle her brows and shot me a smolder.

When I got control of myself, I took a few deep breaths through the laughter and shook my head. “I definitely do not sound like that.”

With a shrug, Calla took a bite of her sandwich. “Whatever you say, Casanova.”

There was no right way to respond to her comment. I couldn’t just be like Oh, yeah. I have no problem talking to hot women. Unless they’re my best friend’s little sister. In which case, I become a blubbering mess.

I stuffed my mouth full of steak, cheese, and peppers so I wouldn’t have to answer. In the middle of our silence, the majestic voices of ABBA soothed me slightly. Just when I thought she’d given up, I glanced over and found her staring at me, brows raised and eyes wide and questioning.

“I’m not interested in her, so it’s easy to be myself, I guess?”

I still think of her as Ms. Thompson or Christian’s mom. And although I love the little guy and would gladly take him home with me, I’m not interested in going on a date with his mom. Because even if Calla is right about her being beautiful, the possibility of more isn’t there. And I’m over casual dates that never go anywhere.

Calla leaned into the console between us, her elbow close to mine but not quite touching. “Hmm, I’m surprised. I figured your type was flirty blondes who boost your ego.”

I smirked over at her, testing. “Nah, my type is sassy brunettes who roast me every chance they get.”

Calla’s cheeks flushed instantly, the freckles across her nose slowly fading into the pink behind them, but she squinted at me in question. “Was that supposed to be practice?”

I could’ve been honest. I could have said something along the lines of It’s never been practice. I don’t need practice for other women as long as you’re in my life. But what good would that have done? It was late, and we were parked in a vacant parking lot. If she didn’t feel the same way, then the ride home would have been a long and awkward one.

“Yeah, practice.” My voice was muffled by the bite of sandwich I forced myself to eat so I could look busy.

Calla nodded. “Not bad. You’ll be a pro soon. Snatching up sassy brunettes left and right.”

This time I looked her in the eye when I said, “Yeah. But maybe, let’s keep working on it. Just for now.”

A half grin tugged at her lips as she studied the dashboard in front of her. “Yeah, just for now.”