More Than Pen Pals by Dana Wilkerson

three

“When we leave,” Wendy says, “we’ll stop by their table and thank Randall one more time. And maybe I’ll get to talk to Ash.”

I almost choke again and take a sip of water to give myself time to come up with an acceptable response. “Let’s not make a big deal out of it,” I finally say, my heart racing.

“Not make a big deal out of a man saving your life? Ha!” She gives me a sly look. “What was it like having his strong arms around you? He’s a handsome one, too.” She frowns. “Though he has a girlfriend.”

“How do you know so much about the Hamilton brothers?” I ask, avoiding her question.

“I have my ways,” she says.

I raise an eyebrow at her.

“All right, fine. I made nice with Annette, the receptionist over at their office. Every few weeks, I invite her to lunch and grill her. Unfortunately, she doesn’t give me much. Something tells me she goes because she wants a free meal.”

“What else do you know about this Ash?”

Wendy narrows her eyes at me. “Why?”

“I’m curious.” I want to learn more about the man who was once the boy I wrote countless letters to—the boy I deceived.

“Don’t tell me you’re interested in him, too!” she wails. “Please don’t fall for the man at the top of my list. He’ll totally pick you.”

“Keep your voice down,” I say. “I’m not falling for anybody. I’m only asking. Plus, I haven’t gotten a good look at him.” Though I want to. If Ash has aged halfway as well as his brother, Wendy may indeed find herself with some competition.

No, I tell myself. He can’t find out who I am. He’ll never forgive me.

“Never mind,” I say. “I don’t need to know about him.” And I need to stay far away from him.

Wendy pouts. “But I want to tell you about him, as long as you promise to not snatch him out from under me.”

“I have no intention of doing so.”

“Okay, then,” she says conspiratorially, “Annette told me he hasn’t had a serious girlfriend since he was in college. Not law school—college. That’s at least five years ago.”

I was never great at math, but I know she’s wrong about the timing. Ash would’ve graduated the same year I did—three years ago, not five. But I can’t tell her I know that.

However, she solves the conundrum for me. “He’s extremely smart. Skipped a grade in high school and then finished college in three years.” She sighs. “I love a brainy man.” Wendy glances at her watch. “Oh! I’m about to be late for a meeting. We need to run.” She flags down a waiter and asks him to bring the check as quickly as possible. “It’s on me,” she tells me. “After all, you nearly died.”

“You don’t need to pay for my meal.”

“I do. If it makes you feel better, you can cover me next time.”

“Deal.”

When the waiter brings the check, Wendy pulls a few bills out of her wallet and sets them on the table as she stands. “Let’s go. I want to stop and say hey to the Hamilton men on the way out.”

“Let’s not,” I say, but she’s already halfway to their table.

As I approach them, I keep my head down and attempt to walk on by, but Wendy grabs my wrist and tugs me beside her.

“Randall,” she says, “Leslie and I wanted to thank you again for saving her life.”

I avoid Ash’s gaze as I focus on his brother. “Yes, thank you, Mr. Hamilton.”

“Please, it’s Randall. I did have my arms around you, so I think we’re close enough now to use each other’s first names.” He grins at me. “Speaking of names, my brother here used to know someone from Arkansas named Leslie.”

“Randall,” Ash warns as my heart stops. His deep voice sends a shiver through me.

His brother plows ahead. “I figure everybody knows everyone else in Arkansas, so maybe you know him. Les something.” His mouth twists. “What was it?” He looks at Ash, who shakes his head as I feel all the blood drain from my own.

I pull on Wendy’s hand, but she stands firm.

“Bartlett?” Randall muses. “Beckham?” His forehead wrinkles and then he points a finger into the air. “Beckett! That’s it. Beckett.”

My body sways and I pray I’ll faint so I won’t know what happens next.

No such luck.

Wendy turns to me with wide eyes. “That’s your last name.”

Randall and the other man at the table both laugh.

“What are the odds?” the other man asks. “Is he your cousin or something?”

I can’t look at Ash. I can’t.

I have to. I need to see how he’s reacting to the bombshell Wendy dropped on him. My gaze slowly moves to my old friend. His piercing blue eyes briefly shine with recognition before turning steely.

“Surprise.” I give him a shaky smile, hoping against hope I’ll get a grin in return.

My hope is shattered when Ash’s nostrils flare, he pushes back his chair with a screech, and he stands. He shoots me one last glare and then strides swiftly across the room toward the exit.

“Ash, wait,” I feebly call out.

“Hold up,” Wendy says. “You two know each other?”

Her words snap me out of my shock, and I race after Ash without acknowledging Wendy’s statement. Considering he had a head start and is about a foot taller than me, he’s out the door before I’m halfway across the restaurant. I rush out onto the sidewalk, frantically looking in each direction. His height makes it easy to spot him heading toward our offices. I run after him, ignoring the pain shooting from the balls of my feet all the way up my legs from running in heels on concrete.

“Ash!” I call out much more forcefully than before. “Ash, wait!”

As he’s apparently too dignified to run down the street, I catch up with him at the end of the next block as the light turns red, forcing us to stop at the corner. He spins away from me, but I skirt around him and place a hand on his arm as I suck in air. He jerks away from my touch and refuses to meet my eyes.

“Don’t touch me,” he says through gritted teeth. “Don’t talk to me.”

“Ash, I’m sorry, okay? Please let me explain.”

He crosses his arms over his chest and finally meets my eyes. “You had four years to explain. Why do you think I’d want your explanation now? Why are you even here?” His eyes narrow. “How did you find me?”

“I didn’t find you. I work with Wendy.”

“No, you don’t.”

“Pretty sure I do,” I retort.

“I know everybody who works at Carter-Jenkins, and you’re not one of them.” He sticks a finger two inches away from my face.

I move my head to the side to get away from his finger. “I started last week.”

The light changes, and he shoots across the street.

I chase after him again. “Ash, let’s please talk about this.” I have to jog to keep up with his long stride. “Can we meet for dinner?”

He stops so abruptly I’m two steps beyond him before I can come to a halt. I turn to face him.

“No,” he spits out, “we can’t meet for dinner. No, we won’t talk about it.” He jabs a finger at me. “You deceived me. That’s all I need to know.” He continues down the sidewalk, giving me a wide berth as he passes.

I want to reach out to him again, but I know that wouldn’t go well.

“Please, Ash.”

“No,” he throws over his shoulder. “We’re done.”