Page 4 of Better Not Pout
- Big di-… Actually, Ken just reminded me who this letter is to, so I should probably keep it PG so I don’t end up on the naughty list (unless that’s a good thing as an adult? I’ll let you decide). Anyway, you do the math on that one, big guy.
- He’ll have a big, close-knit family. A ridiculous number of siblings, or nieces and nephews. The more, the better.
- He has to love weenie dogs. This is non-negotiable. I would be the worst dog mom in the world if I didn’t add this one.
- He’ll need to have an insatiable… sweet tooth. After all, I’m a sweet kind of girl. Candy and cookies, obviously.
-He’s got to be a romantic. The kind of guy who’s willing to go the extra mile. Like… a carriage ride through the town while the snow falls on us, or having a picnic in a field of wildflowers.
“Okay,you know, that’s actually not that bad at all,” Kennedy says with a satisfied smile after I finish reading it out loud to her. “The intentions you set are now out there, and that’s all that matters. Now, c’mon, let’s go mail it.”
When she tries to pull me up from my spot on the floor, I hesitate. “It’s like ten degrees outside, are you crazy? We don’tactually have to put the letterinthe mailbox. We wrote it, that’s all the manifestation we need.”
“Ugh, Rosalie, c’mon. We have to see it through. Just humor me, okay? It’ll take all of like two seconds to walk downstairs and plop it in.” She keeps tugging until I relent, snatching up the letter off the table. I don’t even get a chance to grab my jacket or anything warm at all as we make our way downstairs and outside to the front of Sweet Sullivan’s, where the bright red mailbox sits between our shop and the empty store that’s been for sale for years beside us.
Kennedy holds her now folded letter up in the air between us. “Here’s to letting the universe hold the strings. To manifesting the men of our dreams, right here in this mailbox.”
My lips pull into a grin at the same time I roll my eyes, playing along with her silly plan. “Here’s to no more dating apps or unsolicited nudes from guys we met at Trader Joe’s.”
She slips her letter into the mailbox, and then it’s my turn. I push it through the small opening, watching it disappear from sight.
Even though it’s silly and adolescent, my heart still does a weird flutter. An uneven skip in my chest, one that I wasn’t expecting.
“Maybe it’ll be a Miracle on Main Street, Rosalie Sullivan,” Kennedy whispers beside me.
I guess crazier thingshavehappened in Mistletoe Falls.
two
. . .
Rosalie
Naughty List Ticket: One Way Only
“Gramps,I think this may just be the very best candy you’veevermade,” I mumble around a mouthful of the creamiest chocolate I’ve ever tasted, my taste buds exploding with the decadent flavor.
My grandfather chuckles, his rotund belly shaking with the motion, green eyes twinkling as he stares back at me. “Well, my darling girl, I’d believe you if that wasn’t the same thing you say every time.”
I smirk. “Okay, but I’mreallyserious this time. I swear, you have some kind of magic in your fingertips.”
Not only because it’s without a doubt the most delicious chocolate in the world, but because eating a piece never fails to bring a rush of nostalgia back, a tangible reminder of all of the love and happiness that I’ve felt growing up here, a shadow of Grams and Gramps. It’s so delicious that I don’t even allowmyself time to feel guilty about the calories or the fact that I’ll likely have to skip dinner later because of all of the candy he’s talked me into eating today.
He carefully places the remaining bell-shaped toffee onto the sheet pan to cool and chuckles once more. “Nothing magical about it, darling. Just when you’ve been doing it as long as I have, it becomes like second nature. I could probably make these candies with my eyes closed.”
Without another thought, I plop the rest of the candy in my mouth and savor every single second of chewing it until Grams walks through the kitchen doorway, a small smile on her face. There’s a smear of chocolate clinging to her rosy cheeks, the front of her old, red-and-white striped apron dusted in powdered sugar, a wisp of gray hair escaping out of the low bun at the nape of her neck.
As always, Gramps’ eyes light up when he sees her. It makes my heart ache as a sigh slips out of my lips.
When I try to imagine being as in love as my grandparents have always been, it truly seems impossible. Like the universe doesn’t make love, relationships, or people the way that it used to.
Because I know without a doubt that no one has ever looked at me the way that he looks at her, and I realize maybe there is a small, tiny, little part of me that wants to experience it.
To experience love the way that Kennedy describes it and the way that I witness daily with my grandparents.
If it’s anything like what they share, then falling in love wouldn’t be so bad.
“What are you two doing in here?” Grams says as she stops in front of me, her warm, soft hand finding my cheek in an affectionate pat. “I see your Gramps has started on another batch of caramel trees and bell toffee.”
