Page 1 of Love at First Write

chapter one

Kelsie

You know those big epic embarrassing moments that seem to only appear in movies? Like when the intrepid, yet plucky heroine is spying on her ex behind some shrubbery, and when he looks over she happens to trip over a giant dessert cart that’s suddenly appeared. Yep, that just happened to me.

Okay, not exactly like that, but similar. Imagine this if you will. I’m in my bakery, Sugar Bakers, that I co-own with two of my closest friends, Caroline and Gracie. We have only been open a couple of months now, but business has really started picking up. We started in Gracie’s home kitchen selling cakes and other baked goods for parties, but recently upgraded to brick and mortar shop just a block from downtown Saddle Creek.

Anyways, so I’m in the back, in the kitchen, taking cookies out of the oven. I hear voices out front, a man and a woman and something about a wedding cake. But there’s something about the man’s voice that is familiar. So I set the tray of cookies down and step out front to take a peek.

This, folks, is when I should have just stopped. I should have tossed my apron on the floor and gone home and gotten back into bed.

Of course, that’s not what I did. Nope, I recognize the man and walk straight over to him, ignoring the woman clutching his arm.

“Tommy? Tommy Birch?” I ask.

After years of exchanging letters with Tommy, I imagined the moment he’d return home before. Like, on constant repeat for the past six months. The fantasies ranged from innocuously bumping into him at Ruthie’s Diner to dramatic proposals involving declarations, engagement rings, and a choreographed dance. Don’t judge me for my active imagination; I have a lot of free time while I’m baking.

But even I never imagined this particular scenario. In which he acts like he doesn’t know me.

He looks at me, no recognition lighting his eyes.

“Yeah, that’s me,” he says with a big smile.

I tap on my chest. “I’m Kelsie.” I wait for recognition to dawn. When it doesn’t seem to, I add, “You know, Leah’s friend?”

His head tilts and then he slow nods. “Blankenship, right?”

“Yes.” Why is he acting like this? For the first time, I let my gaze flicker to the woman at his side. She’s about my age. Gorgeous. Thin. With well-behaved, perfectly normal colored hair.

My heart rate picks up as I take in the way her fingers grip his forearm. If he was covered in black spots, I’d worry she was thinking of making a coat out of him.

I take the high road and ignore the bigger question—i.e. who is this woman and why is she touching him—and instead ask, “When did you get home?”

“Who is this, Tom?” clinging woman asks.

He kind of shrugs. “Just a friend of my sister’s. I don’t really know her,” he mumbles close to her ear.

But I hear him just fine.

Again, this would have been a good time to turn my chubby ass around and hide. Again, that is not what I did.

Nope, instead of putting two and two together and reaching the logical conclusion, I go straight from confusion to anger. I refuse to be treated like this and nobody puts Baby in a corner and all that stuff.

So, like the genius I am, I go on the offensive.

“I’m just really freaking surprised you’re acting like you don’t know me after we spent the last two years exchanging letters.” I look to the woman. “Who am I? His pen pal whom he claimed he had fallen in love with.”

Tom goes pale, and for one glorious moment I think I’ve got him.

But as I wait for guilt to cloud his features, something horrible occurs to me.

He doesn’t look guilty. Not in the least.

No. He looks confused. Then he starts shaking his head. “There’s clearly been some misunderstanding. The only person I’ve been writing since my leave is Lana.”

“And I’m his fiancé,” she says, proudly displaying her left hand to show off her ring.

He looks from her back to me, something even worse than either guilt or confusion settles on his face.