Page 21 of More Than Pen Pals

Warmth spreads through my belly at his revelation. “You really would’ve still written to me?”

“While I don’t know for sure, I think so. I loved writing to you, too. And to be honest, I didn’t have any close friends, and it was easy to open up to you. I also enjoyed hearing about your life and your family, because they were so different from mine.”

“So I kept up all the deception for nothing?” I give him a pouty look.

He chuckles. “Maybe so.”

“If I’d been honest, I could’ve saved myself a lot of misery.”

His expression turns serious. “Did it bother you that much?”

“I wouldn’t really call it misery, and especially not when I was ten, but when I was older, I always had this little voice in my ear telling me what I was doing was wrong.”

“Was the voice attached to a tiny woman with a white robe and halo that sat on your shoulder?”

I smile. “Yes, but she was drowned out by the tiny red man with horns and a pitchfork on my other shoulder who reminded me the truth might scare off my cute, smart, fake-boyfriend pen pal.”

“That little guy can be persuasive.”

“Tell me about it.”

Ash considers me for a moment. “You thought I was cute? Randall always said I looked like an oversized leprechaun.”

I giggle. “That’s brothers for you. You looked nothing like a leprechaun. I thought you looked like Donny Osmond.”

“That’s funny.” He struggles to keep a straight face. “So did I.”

I throw my napkin at him. “You did not, Mr. Lucky Charms.”

We smile at each other longer than should be comfortable, but somehow neither of us is embarrassed.

“Do you still think I look like Donny?” he finally asks.

“No.” I press my lips together so I won’t grin at him.

Ash’s eyes widen. “No?”

“He still looks like a baby. You?” I slowly look him up and down—at least the part I can see. “All man.”

His blue eyes darken a hue, and he clears his throat.

“Can I interest you in any dessert?” the waiter asks from out of nowhere.

Ash raises an eyebrow at me. “Leslie?” I consider it for a moment. I’m not ready to leave, since we’re shockingly getting along so well. But I also suddenly realize I’m exhausted as well as sore from the Heimlich earlier, so I shake my head.

“We’ll take the check,” he tells the waiter.

Ash picks up his empty glass and holds it out toward me. “A toast, even though there’s nothing left in my glass to toast with.”

I pick up my wineglass and wonder what he’s going to say.

“To old friends and new surprises.”

“And to Wendy,” I add.

“Hear, hear.”

I clink my glass to his and swallow the last of my wine. He’s studying me again when I set my glass down.

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