Page 19 of A Pen Pal for Christmas

Grace’s voice carried after me as I left them, the words faint but clear. “Let her go, Tommy.”

Back at the inn,I climbed the stairs, my boots thudding softly against the wood. When I reached my room, I unlocked the door and stepped inside, flicking on the light. Something on the floor caught my eye immediately. A cream-colored envelope, neatly addressed in the handwriting that was now so familiar—and welcome.

Tension melted away as I bent to pick it up, a small smile tugging at my lips. Who knew this pen pal exchange would be such a balm?

Well, Joan and Ida had.

I turned the envelope over in my hands, then shrugged off my coat and flopped onto the bed. Then, I tore it open with a little more enthusiasm than I cared to admit. The words on the page pulled me in immediately, the stranger’s warmth and humor an instant comfort.

I could almost hear his voice as I read, though I had no idea what it might actually sound like. His words carried a sincerity that felt rare, like he wasn’t just filling the page with nonsense. He kept it light, but at the same time, very real.

Dear Pen Pal,

Thanks for telling me about your Christmas traditions in your last letter.

Traditions in this town have always felt like family traditions, even though they’re for everyone. Even the tourists. One of my favorites is the scavenger hunt. Whenwe were kids, my friends and I used to run around solving the clues, collecting the random objects. Then we’d gather around the big tree in the square at the end to see who won.

I’m really competitive. There was hot cocoa and cookies to make it better for the losers (which was rarely me, by the way), and it was a nice touch. Are you competitive?

Anyway, I’ve always liked how events like that get the whole town to set aside the stress of life and just... enjoy it.

Are you planning to do the scavenger hunt? Maybe we’ll run into each other and not even know it.

Talk soon,

Your Pen Pal

As I finished the letter, my mind drifted to the contrast between my pen pal and the rest of my life. This was the one corner of my world that Dane couldn’t touch. Not with his pleas for second chances. Not with the baggage of our history.

Even Hudson, with all his quiet strength and charm, wasn’t free from Dane’s shadow. Thanks to that tense little showdown at the coffee shop, the next time I saw him wouldn’t be another moment of connection that was purely about how handsome he was or how drawn I was to him. That was how it had been all week, and I couldn’t believe the power of the butterflies in my tummy every time we shared a few words over coffee downstairs or while passing on the street.

But that, thanks to Dane, was over now. From now on, chatting with Hudson would be flavored with the concern I’d seen in his eyes when he’d approached the table. And that stung.

But my pen pal? He was untouchable. Anonymous. A safe escape. And knowing that Ida and Joan had intentionally chosen who would write to whome—to whatever end—added another layer of safety. I didn’t have to stress that he was a wolf in sheep’s clothing because they wouldn’t do that. Not to me, or anyone else.

I stretched out on the bed, feeling way more at peace now that I had this letter to focus on. I spent the next few minutes firing off a response that promised I would be at the scavenger hunt. I joked that if I weren’t so into the secret part of this pen pal deal, I would tell him to find a woman in a bright red scarf and give me a sign if it were him.

Then, I followed that up with something ramble-y about how there would probably be a lot of women with bright red scarves, so maybe that wasn’t the best idea. I spent a little too much time wondering if I should scratch that out in case it was awkward, eventually deciding that was part of the fun. Being silly and weird with this stranger held no repercussions whatsoever, and it felt good to not care.

When I finished, I skipped downstairs to put my letter in the Santa box, then went right back up and curled up in my bed with my latest romance book.

As the afternoon bled into the evening, I’d all but erased the icky feelings I’d had because of Dane. But then my gaze flicked to the dresser as I turned a page, and I did a double-take because something about it seemed… off.

My stomach tightened as I squinted at a gap that wasn’t supposed to be there. The top drawer was open, just an inch, though I was sure I’d closed it before leaving for the coffee shop. And I knew that because the antique furniture didn’tjust look that way for the charm factor. It was all really old, and sometimes that meant I had to push a little harder than necessary, and this morning, I’d almost taken a fingernail off when I closed it.

I racked my brain. Maybe my days were my days off. Maybe that had been a different morning, and this morning, I’d left it cracked like that.

But, no. No matter how I turned it over, the answer didn’t sit right.

I sat up slowly, my brows furrowing as a faint prickle of unease crept up my spine. I swung my legs off the bed and stood, moving cautiously toward the dresser. But then, just as I reached for the drawer, a creak in the hallway made me freeze, my pulse quickening.

Footsteps, faint but deliberate, grew louder before stopping just outside my door. The sharp knock that followed shattered the silence, and I jumped back with a gasp.

CHAPTER 8

Hudson

I scannedthe hallway as I stood in front of Sofia’s door. It was too quiet. Most of the inn’s other guests were either doing some kind of Christmas activity in town or were huddled downstairs by the fire, but this kind of silence felt heavy. Almost intentional. Manufactured, even.

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