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

Age 23:

To: [email protected]

From: [email protected]

Shiny,

I mean this in the most modest and polite way possible.

You should, respectfully, take this girl to pound town. Whilst wearing a Henley.

Also, my roommate is pretty great. HE has been nothing but a gentleman. A very particular gentleman, but still. Think I’ll stick here for a while.

Use protection. Have fun,

Lily

P.S. Ten years is coming up soon. Are we going to make plans or not? I’m dyinggg.

***

I’d never truly had a hard time securing a job until this point.

At sixteen, I worked as a cashier at a pharmacy down the road. At eighteen, I was a salesperson at a bridal store—where I used that phrase “Girl, you look like a snack” way too often for comfort. There was a brief time where I decorated windows at local businesses downtown, but I quickly discovered I had no artistic ability, and drawing a bunny drinking an energy smoothie was much harder than those aesthetic TikToks made it out to be. Then there was the infamous server position at Chuck E. Cheese.

Maybe I’d never had to fight for any of those jobs because they were simple and employers hadn’t even looked twice at a résumé. Or maybe it was trickier now because this was my first “adult” job and everything up to this point had been kind of useless. Either way, I was sick of the rejection emails flooding my inbox. Sick of searching for subject letters from Indeed or CareerBuilder. Introductions that included the words Thank you so much for applying, but… or We are grateful for your application, unfortunately… were tossed into my trash folder faster than a toupee could fly in a hurricane.

Just one tiny little interview would make my whole week. Heck, my whole year. Sure, some of these positions were a long shot. I didn’t really expect an answer regarding those. But even my backups were saying no. Scratch that. My backups’ backups were throwing me into the big fat no pile too.

Spending my day refreshing my inbox, calling Layla to complain about said inbox, applying for more jobs, and texting Nathan memes about The Bachelorette turned out to be more tiring than I ever imagined it could be. It was almost six, and I was utterly drained. And I had barely left the couch since I’d finished my bowl of cereal this morning. I wouldn’t be surprised if the cellulite on my thighs had fused to the fabric. I lifted one leg just to check, but miraculously, my leg was still free. But a few hours from now, the story may be different.

Thankfully, I followed Rachel on Spotify, and she had half a dozen playlists that fit my current mood. My personal favorite today was one called “Sad Girl Hours.” It was a mixture of Taylor Swift and The Kinks, and it totally gelled with the mood I was in.

So the expression on Nathan’s face when he walked in on me belting out the lyrics to “Better Things” with a half-empty pint of Half-Baked Ben and Jerry’s laid out in front of me on the coffee table came as no surprise.

In case you can’t imagine it, I will paint that vision for you: Eyes darting to the piles of laundry that had yet to be moved. Jaw slack for a moment before his lips tipped up in a tight smirk. Eyebrows furrowed in confusion. And then a head tilt with a face full of pity.

“So, how’s your day been?” he asked, not bothering to hide his amusement.

I shifted from under my fuzzy blanket with seasonal pumpkins on it—despite October being two months away (it was never too early for fall decor).

“If you consider going through rejection emails and downing an entire pint of ice cream whilst also avoiding my adult responsibilities as good, then it has been absolutely wonderful.”

Nathan slid his work shoes off at the end of the hall and hung his keys on the hook. “Give me five minutes,” he said before heading to his room.

Three minutes later, Nathan came strolling back into the living room barefoot. He was wearing a black shirt that was form fitting around his rather muscly biceps and gray sweatpants. My favorite part of his comfy ensemble, though, was the pink throw blanket—one of mine—tied around his neck like a cape.

Without explanation, the man plopped down next to me on the couch, propped both feet on the coffee table, and leaned back to view the screen in front of me. He reached for my computer with both hands and said, “Gimme.”

Obediently, I handed over the sad little device.

Nathan pulled up my email, the one I had been using strictly for the job hunt. “Every single place, even the ones I helped with, said no?”

“Yup,” I said, making sure to pop the P.

He shook his head and frowned. “Impossible. Your resume is impeccable. Someone should have at least been interested in bringing you in for an interview.”

I pulled my pumpkin blanket up to my chin. “You would think. But nope. I stopped reading them all after the fifth or sixth We regret to inform you but—”

Nathan held his fingers over the keys and side-eyed me. “So you didn’t read them all the way through?”

“Uh, no? I’d rather not read every detail of why they didn’t want to hire me.”

Nathan scoffed and scrolled through my trash folder. “Sometimes they give constructive criticism that could be helpful, or they’ll recommend that you apply to a different branch. Hold on.” Squinting, he skimmed a handful of emails.

It felt stupid having him comb through rejection after rejection, but I hadn’t cared what he thought of me before, so why would I now? Nathan had seen the worst of the worst of me, including my LED face mask that supposedly attacked aging like nobody’s business, so this was just par for the course.

He paused on one in particular. The one that hurt the most to see. The sports media manager for the Pirates. I hated the team, but the experience I’d get there would be incredible. They sourced out their media team to a third party, so I didn’t feel that bad for applying for it.

Nathan’s body tensed up as he read the email.

“I know, I know. That one was harsh. I really hoped that could come together, but I knew the risk going into it.”

“Uh, Calla…” His voice trailed off, and his eyes remained riveted to the screen.

“Let’s move on.” I rolled my eyes and waved a hand.

“Did you read anything more than the first sentence of this email?” he asked, finally tearing his attention away from the screen and scrutinizing me with a frown.

“I mean, no…”

Without replying, he turned the screen toward me.

“What?” I squinted at the small text.

“Read it all!” He practically shoved my laptop into my chest.

“Geez, you sound like my second-grade teacher trying to raise my AR points. Calm down, Tina.”

Mumbling, I read the stupid thing out loud. “We regret to inform you that this position has been filled. This particular job requires a degree in marketing and public relations. However, I looked intensely over your recent work, and I was impressed by your cover letter. There is a position open with another team our organization is affiliated with. The job description is similar, though it would involve more work with the players and less public relations. This particular position would be with the Philadelphia Phillies. If you’re interested in applying, please email me back or call me at—”

I shrieked and turned to Nathan, who was staring at the screen, slack-jawed.

“What do I do?” I asked, but it came out more like whatdoIdo?

Nathan stood, his blanket cape draping behind him still. “You have to call her! When did you get the email?”

I frantically scrolled up to the heading of the email. “Ten a.m. Is it too late?” I was already unlocking my phone and clicking on the keypad icon.

Nathan winced. “I don’t know. If I were hiring, I would probably prefer to get an email first. You should tell her you appreciate the response and that you’d like to call at the most appropriate—”

The call connected, and a loud tone rang out.

“It’s ringing.” I pointed out the obvious.

“Calla!” He scolded me like I was a two-year-old and he’d caught me stealing candy from the pantry.

It rang three times before a woman answered. “This is Angela.”

Her voice was so confident, so clear. I liked her already. I could see us getting our nails done with a tiny matching P for Phillies on each of our big toes. We’d post about it on our stories with captions that said besties for the resties. Then we’d go meet our hot baseball boyfriends at a trendy place downtown where everyone would ask us what we did for a living.

“Hi, Angela. This is Calla Wells. I applied for the social media manager position for the Pirates?”

Nathan was now standing on the couch, waving wildly as if this train hadn’t already left the station.

“Ah, yes.” Angela cleared her throat. “I wasn’t sure how you’d feel about the change in positions, especially since the Pirates and the Phillies are rivals—”

“Oh, that’s not an issue. I’m a massive fan.” I probably shouldn’t have interrupted, but I’d never want to be mistaken for a Pirates fan. Better to clear that up immediately.

Thankfully, she let out a small chuckle. “Great. Could we schedule a time for an interview next Thursday?”

Oh my gosh, an interview? She wanted to interview me. Me!

“Let me check my calendar.” I didn’t have a calendar. I hadn’t had one since high school. I muted the call and turned to Nathan. “Oh my gosh!”

He jumped off the couch and ran around the coffee table, his arms still in the air. It was a spot-on representation of how my brain felt.

I unmuted the call and hummed as though I needed to consider my options. “Ah, yes. Thursday looks free.”

“Wonderful. I’ll email the details. We will see you soon.”

“Thank you, Angie!”

Look at me, already tossing out nicknames. She cleared her throat in response. Okay, maybe we weren’t there yet.

“Yes, ma’am. Have a good night.”

I waited for her to hang up first so I wouldn’t risk missing a last-minute invitation to get late-night burritos. But then my phone beeped, signaling that she’d ended the call.

Throwing the device onto the couch with a little more aggressive excitement than was necessary, I turned to Nathan, who was in this weird star pose with his arms halfway in the air and his legs spread.

“Did I just get an interview?”

“You just got an interview,” he said, still frozen.

“To work…with the Phillies.”

“To work with the Phillies.” He confirmed my suspicions.

In sync, Nathan and I jumped up and down, both shouting some version of “oh my gosh” and “did that really just happen?”

Nathan stopped his fervent jumping and said, “We have to celebrate.”

“Okay.” I stopped jumping too, although my brain was still bouncing off the walls, processing my phone call with my new best friend. “How do we celebrate?”

Nathan rounded the corner to the kitchen without any explanation.

“What are you doing?” I shouted to the wall between us.

“Hold on!” he yelled back.

Moments later, he returned, presenting a familiar brown paper bag with the Liberty Bell logo on it.

I stomped my feet like a child on a sugar-high in the audience at Disney on Ice. At the part where Elsa just pops out in skates, with Olaf trailing behind her.

“Why didn’t you bring those in here earlier?”

He laughed. “I got these for our folding party, but this works out even better.”

Without an ounce of shame, I squealed, but cut it off abruptly. “Wait, does this mean we still have to fold laundry?”

Nathan made a point of looking at the multiple piles lying around our living room. “Uh, yeah, we do.”

So that’s how I wound up sitting on the rug, eating a very messy sandwich and watching Nathan fold my T-shirts from high school while a compilation of the best Phillies moments played in the background.

“Are you going to help me?” With a groan, he stretched to throw another shirt in the far right pile—which I’d labeled as not-super-cute-but-I-wouldn’t-be-upset-if-I-ran-into-an-ex-while-wearing-it pile.

“Mmm.” I popped an abandoned grilled onion into my mouth. “I don’t know if I should. You’re doing such a good job all on your own.”

Nathan rolled his eyes and leaned back against the coffee table. “I am not folding your bras and underwear, so you’re gonna have to figure that out for yourself.”

On his other side, black lace and an occasional pair of yellow boy shorts with orange slices on them peeked out from under other clothes.

I let out an annoyed groan. “Fine, fine. I’m so sorry to gross you out with women’s underwear. Newsflash, though, bud: you’ll have to come across it someday.”

He pinched the bridge of his nose. “That’s not—I. Just go fold.”

With a snort, I crawled my way over to the underwear pile. I picked up each delicate item and folded them one by one before setting them in their own pile. Nathan relaxed against the table, taking large bites of his sandwich and stuffing his cheeks full.

On the TV, an ad showcasing a hot guy riding a motorcycle flashed across the screen. Wearing all black and a tinted helmet, the fit man zoomed down the road and held up some kind of French cologne—one that I would definitely buy, despite the bottle being slightly phallic-shaped. All because of the gorgeous man. How was it that I found him so attractive, yet I hadn’t gotten a glimpse of his face? Maybe it was the deep curiosity I felt to know what he looked like under there. Either way, I was intrigued.

“I think I have a mask kink,” I said louder than I meant to.

Nathan inhaled sharply and coughed, beating his chest like a silverback gorilla as he struggled to take a breath.

“Oh my gosh. Are you choking?” I foolishly asked, as if the man could answer when his cheeks were flaming and he was coughing violently.

Popping up on my knees, I crawled closer, fully intending to give this man the Heimlich. But he stuck one long finger in the air, signaling that I should stay put. He coughed a few more times and shook his head. Then he cleared his throat and rasped, “Just went down the wrong way.”

I fell back onto my bottom. “Try to be more careful. You nearly gave me a heart attack.”

Nathan scoffed, his neck and cheeks still pink from the coughing fit. “I gave you a heart attack? You can’t just throw out comments about having a mask kink while I’m mid-bite into a sandwich.”

I raised my hands, my bra still dangling from one. “I was just making an observation. The man on the motorcycle was very hot, but I couldn’t see his face. So it’s safe to say I have a thing for masks. Or maybe men just look better with their faces covered up.”

Nathan’s own face was contorted in a mix of confusion and curiosity, with just a dash of humor and a pinch of disgust.

I shrugged. “Don’t judge me.”

He raised his hands in defense. “I haven’t even said anything.”

“You didn’t have to. Your disappointed dad face is shining bright as day.” I waved a hand in front of his annoyingly gorgeous face.

How did he look this good after a long day? It honestly ticked me off. I had barely moved all day, and yet I looked like I’d run a marathon that ended with a crowd full of people throwing garbage instead of confetti. Nathan had worked a nine-hour shift and come home looking perfectly put together in his white button-down and his stupid-hot fancy pants. The urge to find his mother’s home address and write her a handwritten thank-you note was almost too strong to ignore. I’d use washi tape and cute stickers to show my gratitude for being blessed with such beauty. Which reminded me that I didn’t really know anything about Nathan’s mom. Actually, I hardly knew anything at all about the man.

It was a strange thought. I considered Nathan a good friend, and yet I didn’t even know where he’d grown up. What were his childhood dreams? Did he have a dog when he was a kid? Had he ever kayaked? These were things I should have already known about him. The man had already seen my bras. I should at least know his go-to order at Chick-Fil-A.

“Where’s your mom?” I blurted before I could stop myself. Normally, I’d aim for a little more tact. But then again, I hadn’t been subtle yet, so why force it?

Nathan puffed a small laugh. “Right this minute?” He glanced at the time on his phone. “She’s probably arguing with a grocery store owner about how her coupons that expired three months ago should still be valid. That or playing pickleball with my dad and their friends.”

I nodded. “I think I’d like to meet the woman who made you.”

Nathan laughed, his shoulders bouncing and his eyes crinkling. “You’re something else, BG.”

I sat up straighter. “I’m serious! I need to know these things. Go draw me a map of your childhood home so I can imagine six-year-old Nathan running around.”

“Why are you so curious all of a sudden?”

“It’s not all of a sudden. I just was too distracted”—by your dumb hot face—“to ask.”

Nathan eyed the two piles of unfolded laundry left. “All right. An item of clothing for a question. We each get to ask whatever we want. No holding back.”

I nodded and smiled, locking eyes with him. “Deal.”

Laundry was about to become my new favorite pastime.

He moved first, grabbing a shirt with Romance isn’t dead inscribed on the front pocket. “What’s your favorite color?”

I cupped both hands around my mouth. “Boo! That was terrible. I’m talking real questions, Nate. Dig deep here.”

“All right, all right.” He was already tucking the sleeves back in the fold of the shirt, pressing out creases. “Who was your first crush?”

Now we’re talking. “Celebrity or real?”

“Hmm, both.”

I sighed dreamily. “Ashton Kutcher and Tyler Smith.”

Nathan smirked at me. “Oh yeah? Why’s that?”

“I used to watch That ’70s Show after my parents went to bed. He was the driving force behind my sexual awakening. Oh, and Tyler’s mom always gave out full-size candy bars at Halloween. And he used to leave me little notes in my backpack about how he liked my hair or my outfit.”

“Ooh.” Nathan laughed and set the shirt aside. “Tyler had moves, then.”

I nodded. “Oh yeah. It totally worked on me.”

I picked up the next item of clothing and began folding. “Where did you grow up?”

“New Hope. I stayed there till college. Went to Penn State and then moved here shortly after. I visit my parents a lot in the summer since they still live in the house I grew up in.”

I couldn’t help but smile to myself as we continued asking questions. With each discovery, I liked him more. He’d gotten involved in music because his mom knew he needed something to do with his hands. I told him how I wanted to be a vet until I found out I’d have to see blood and gross stuff.

Soon enough, we ran out of laundry. My clothes were folded and stacked on the far side of the couch, but we were lying flat on our backs on the rug, staring up at the spinning ceiling fan above us.

“Favorite movie in high school?” he asked softly as he shifted his head a little closer to mine.

“Hmm, probably 50 First Dates.”

Nathan puffed out a laugh through his nose, amused at my answer. “What’s your favorite thing about romance books and movies?”

“Oh, so, so many things. The chemistry, the light touches here and there. Wondering when they’ll finally get together. Watching their first kiss and getting all the butterflies, as if it was my own.” I could’ve rattled off more reasons for days. They were like lyrics I’d memorized from all my favorite songs.

I dropped my head to the side and came face to face with Nathan. We were closer than I’d realized. From here, I could make out every detail of his dark green irises, but the rest of his features were blurry. When his eyes dipped to my mouth and darted back up, I instinctively licked my lips.

Without breaking eye contact, I continued. “The way the characters fit together so perfectly, even if they don’t see it right away.”

He had never looked so serious before. His brows were tucked low and his teeth were pressed into his full bottom lip. My eyes trailed down to his mouth and back up. My own mouth began to water, and tingles danced across my palms. He was so close I was surrounded by his scent. A mix of his laundry detergent and a spicy citrus cologne I’d caught sight of in his bathroom the other day. I wanted to steal that bottle for myself. Screw the French guy on the motorcycle. Nathan needed his own fragrance commercial ASAP.

Great job, Calla. You finally have a stable home, and now you have the hots for the guy who’s letting you stay for practically nothing.

I had absolutely no business thinking of what kissing Nathan would be like or wondering what kind of noises he would make if I tackled him to the ground right now like a deprived lioness.

We had a good thing going on. Philly cheesesteak sandwiches, watching baseball, piano lessons, joking about our connected family and friends. Shaking the foundation we’d built would only complicate things. And for what? The chance at a relationship that would likely be temporary? I didn’t need temporary. I needed stability. Friendship with Nathan, and nothing more, would provide that stability.

I cleared my throat and turned my head so I was looking at the ceiling again.

“So, uh, what’s your favorite part about teaching music lessons?” I continued our game as though I hadn’t just been counting the freckles across the bridge of his nose. They were so tiny they could only be seen up close.

Miraculously, he didn’t call me out on my obvious staring. Out of the corner of my eye, I could see him staring at the fan as well.

“The breakthrough. Watching how their skills develop from almost nonexistent to incredible in just a few weeks. These kids have no idea how bright their futures are. Knowing I can show them just a piece of that? I dunno. It’s just really cool.”

This was not tempering my attraction. Listening to Nathan talk about being so gentle and encouraging with a group of children was the strongest aphrodisiac I’d ever experienced. And suddenly, the living room was very, very hot.

Dazed, I muttered, “That’s really sweet.”

In my periphery, he shrugged, as if it really was nothing. Then, groaning like an old man, he sat up. “Speaking of—you need to practice some more too.”

“Do we have to?” I huffed.

Last time, it took two hours to get six simple notes down. By the end, even Nathan was ready to fire me as a student.

“Yup. Can’t break through the wall if you never try.” He held out a hand to help pull me up.

Even though I longed to feel that spark of electricity that shot through me every time we touched, I didn’t reach for it. I wanted to lie on this floor with him all night.

I let out a moan that was the equivalent of a toddler crying face down on the floor because her mom wouldn’t let her listen to “Baby Shark” one hundred times in a row.

Nathan laughed, the deep rumble striking me right in the chest. “I promise not to push you so hard tonight. Just give it one more shot.”

Quirking my lips in acquiescence, I held my arm up. He grasped my hand, his palm grazing mine, and those delicious sparks danced between us. Then Nathan pulled me up more forcefully than I expected, and I slammed into him, my chest pressed tight against his.

Then, as if the occurrence hadn’t affected the man at all, he turned on his heel and strode to the music room. “Let’s do it.”

Conviction hit me heavily as I pictured exactly what it would be like with Nathan.