Fortuity: A Standalone Contemporary Romance (The Transcend Series Book 3)

by Jewel E. Ann

  Mrs. Calloway is beautiful and young. Maybe early thirties. I think back to Nate’s mom mentioning the nanny while talking about all that Nate had been through. Reincarnation? Wow … how did that never get brought up? Maybe the same way I never mentioned I hear my dead boyfriend’s voice. Which … I don’t know. He might be upset about the bracelet or simply has given up on me, or maybe he really does approve of my recent choices and therefore has nothing to say.

  Now that I have their new address, I use my new stationary to write Nate a letter, but it doesn’t go so well. I can’t find the right words to start it beyond “Dear Nate,” and even that feels questionably too formal.

  Dear Nate,

  I miss you.

  Too forward.

  How’s it going?

  Too generic.

  Why haven’t you contacted me?

  Too accusatory.

  Saw photos of you putting up the tire swing, you look really hot.

  Too horny.

  Am I your only female pen pal?

  Too desperate.

  How’s your nanny? I hear she’s your best friend reincarnated. That’s cool.

  Too much of a stalker.

  All six wadded up pieces of paper land in the trash. I start over with the easy letter.

  Dear Morgan,

  The excitement in your words jumps off the page. Thank you for the letter. The tree swing looks fun, and your backyard is beautiful. A tree house would be amazing! I’d love to see more pictures of your new house.

  Sounds like school is going well, and you have a great teacher. I bet Mrs. Calloway is just as excited to have you in her class as you are to have her as your teacher. I just followed you on social media. It brings a big smile to my face to see you so incredibly happy with so many friends. You are such an uplifting young lady. I knew kids would be drawn to you, except Candace, she sounds like trouble.

  I bought Mr. Hans new socks at Costco. He says they suffocate his toes, so he’s gone back to his old socks with holes in them. I think he just misses his wife, and he knows she bought them for him.

  Speaking of missing people, I miss you so much. Gabe won’t let me braid his hair or paint his nails. Don’t tell him I told you this, but he read your letter before anything else when he got home from soccer practice. Before a snack. Before playing video games. Whether he admits it or not (and he won’t because he’s a boy), he misses you too.

  I’ll post some pics and video of Gabe playing soccer. So far he’s staying out of trouble at school, but I’ll keep you updated.

  Sincerely,

  Gracelyn

  I mail the letter the next morning after dropping Gabe off at school. And I wait …

  I post pictures and videos from Gabe’s soccer games. Morgan comments on all of them. She posts pictures and videos with friends and from her aunt’s wedding. She was a junior bridesmaid. I show a heart reaction but rarely comment unless it’s a picture in her house. Then I mention things like “Love the paint color you chose for your room!” or “New beanbag chair?”

  Nate indulges her with more selfies together, and those are my favorites. I never comment, but I hit the heart button so fast I can barely keep my hand from shaking. He’s growing out a beard, and it looks so damn sexy, gray and all.

  I haven’t brought myself to post a selfie, even though I’ve taken a million, used filters to soften my freckles and wrinkles, and even applied makeup, beyond just lip gloss, a few times. It feels too “see me, look at me” when the person in the world I want most to see me won’t even drop me a letter.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-FIVE

  Nathaniel

  “Oh my gosh! It’s snowing! Can we buy a sled? Can we go skiing? Where are our ice skates?” Morgan jumps on to my bed.

  I pull the covers over my head, which only doubles her efforts to get a reaction out of me.

  “Daaad!”

  “School. You have school. And it’s a dusting of snow. It will melt by noon.”

  She straddles my body and yanks the covers away from my head. Her lips turn downward into an exaggerated frown. “What can I do for you?” She steals my line.

  I say the same thing to her when she has her period or something goes wrong at school. Navigating her new way of life, her ever changing personality, and hormones is not exactly easy. She loses it when I try to guess what’s wrong and solve her problems when I don’t even know them. So I’ve learned the best approach is a simple, “What can I do for you?”

  I sit up so we’re nose to nose, and I grin. “Toaster waffles, extra butter, extra syrup. Juice. I’ll make the coffee.”

  “Daaad …” She presses her hands to my cheeks.

  I don’t get this kind of attention from her often. She has a phone and lots of friends now. Life changes.

  “You miss her.”

  I gather her hair up in back and smile. “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Gracelyn. We’ve written like a hundred letters to each other …”

  I raise an eyebrow.

  She sighs. “Okay, not literally, but at least six. How many have you written to her?”

  My lips twist.

  “Zero!” She holds up her hand with her thumb and fingers together making a zero. “Why did you kiss her like you did … in the rain … if you’re not going to write her a letter?”

  I release her hair and curl it behind her ears. “And what should I say if I write to her?”

  The truth? I have no fucking clue, and that’s why I haven’t brought myself to do it. Well, not true. I’ve started dozens of letters, but they’ve all ended up in the shredder.

  She rolls her eyes to the ceiling. “Hmm … maybe: My Dearest Gracelyn, the world is a dark place without you. I can still taste your lips on mine—”

  “Whoa!” I grab her sides, making her jump. “What have you been reading? Where have you heard such things?”

  Morgan giggles as I continue to tickle her. “Stop!” She wriggles out of my hold and jumps out of bed. My darling little girl looks adorable in her girly jeans with sequins on the back pockets and her pink (always pink) sweater. She crosses her arms over her chest. “I’m serious. You have to send her a letter. I would be so mad if a boy kissed me like that and then ghosted me.”

  “Ghosted you?”

  She rolls her eyes. “God … you’re so old.”

  I climb out of bed, slowly stretching my arms above my head. “You’re right. I am old, but not too old to dig a grave and bury any boy who tries to kiss you like that … or at all for that matter. Make yourself useful, go get those waffles put into the toaster.”

  “Write her!” she yells as she stomps down the hallway of our three-bedroom ranch on a wooded cul-de-sac.

  It’s not as big as the house I sold before traveling with Morgan, but it has plenty of room for the two of us, and it was recently completely renovated. The ceilings are tall, the exterior walls are mostly windows, and the floors are all newly refinished, light sapwood walnut.

  After breakfast, I start my usual routine. Drop Morgan off at school. Work on editing my manuscript until noon. Exercise for an hour, which usually means a jog and a boot camp routine of push-ups, burpees, pull-ups, and sit-ups. Shower. Grab a sandwich. And hunker down in my office for the rest of the afternoon, working until it’s time to get Morgan.

  Today, however, I don’t go back to my manuscript after lunch. I force myself to start and finish a letter to Gracelyn. One shot. I forbid myself to start over. If I mess up, I scribble through the words I don’t want, and just keep going. It’s a fucking mess by the time I stuff it into an envelope, seal it, stamp it, and address it to Gracelyn Glock.

  Before I second-guess myself, I drop it off at the post office on my way to pick up Morgan from school. No turning back now.

  *

  Gracelyn

  “Mail’s on the counter,” Mr. Hans says as soon as I come down the stairs after throwing my work clothes into the washing machine. “A letter from some guy in Madison, Wisconsi
n.”

  “Guy?” I shoot him a crooked smile while passing the living room on my way to the kitchen. “You mean Morgan.”

  “Not this time.”

  I pick up the letter with Nate’s name in the upper left-hand corner and hug it to my chest. Closing my eyes, I jump up and down, silently screaming inside with excitement.

  “I was excited too.” Mr. Hans startles me.

  “Shit!” I jump out of my school-girl reaction, completely embarrassed that he saw it.

  He winks, shuffling his feet to the fridge.

  “I’m uh …” I clear my throat as if I’m suddenly mature again, not that it matters at this point. “Just going to go read it upstairs.”

  After retrieving a can of flavored sparkling water from the fridge, he pops the top and grins. “I figured.”

  I nod, giving him a stiff smile as I take slow steps toward the stairs, maintaining that pace until the last five stairs. Then I sprint the rest of the way to my bedroom, close the door, and jump onto my bed. I pull my phone out of my pocket and check the time. I have to leave in an hour to pick up Gabe from practice.

  Taking a deep breath and blowing it out, I open the letter and unfold it. A smile hits my face so quickly; it almost brings tears to my eyes. His letter is a mess. It’s a maze of words, some scribbled out, some left for me to read. Clearly, he chose to conserve on paper, unlike me and the entire forest of trees that I’ve tossed in the trash without sending one … not one of the many letters I’ve written him.

  Gracelyn,

  I thought writing to you would make things easier, bridge the two-thousand-mile gap between us. I thought it would make me feel less alone as Morgan fills her free time with new friends, figure skating, listening to music, and practicing the piano. She’s wanted to take piano lessons for years, but I’m sure she’s already told you that.

  It’s not easier … writing to you. Nothing is easy at the moment. We’re settled. Morgan is happy. My parents and Jenna’s family are thrilled to have her back in their lives. I’m a few days away from finishing the edits on my manuscript. On the weekends, I’ve been working on building a tree house for Morgan, but it’s getting cold, so I might have to wait until spring to finish it. I have plans to surprise Morgan with a puppy for Christmas.

  My life is textbook perfect at the moment. Yet, I can’t bring myself to just BE happy. It’s complicated.

  How are your parents? Mr. Hans? Gabe? Who’s renting the house next door? I guess I’m really asking who’s the lucky person who gets to watch you strip every day?

  Am I jealous?

  Abso-fucking-lutely.

  A professor in my old department at the university is retiring at the end of the school year. I’m going to apply for his position. It’s probably a long shot. I miss teaching. Maybe a full-time job will infuse more normalcy into my life again.

  It’s funny how easily Morgan jumped into a routine. She thrives on it, which I never expected. I’m the one who can’t seem to adjust. For eight years we’ve lived by the motto: What adventure can we find today? Now, we live by a calendar, move about like robots on autopilot, and rush to not run late.

  I never took the chance to thank you for fixing our lice situation. It was the last thing I needed just two days before leaving. Instead of showing my gratitude, I acted like a dick. I’m sorry.

  Hopefully, it won’t take me four months again to find the right words to write to you. If it does, I hope your holidays go well. I hope Gabe won’t feel a resurgence of loss, but don’t be surprised if he does. You probably already know this from experience. The holidays are hard.

  Love,

  Nate

  I hug the letter to my chest and fall back onto the bed. Love Nate …

  Done. That’s the easy part.

  He reminded me that love doesn’t hold on. It lets go. That day in the rain, I let Brandon go. I let Nate go. Yet, the love is still there. I carry it in my heart and in the permanent memories that no one can ever take away.

  How did I let him leave without exchanging numbers? Oh, that’s right … pen pals. I need to hear his voice. I need to see his face. Morgan would give it to me.

  Play it cool.

  My inner voice sucks. She has way more patience than I do.

  Maybe I can draw him out, make him feel as needy as I do. I rest the letter face down on my chest, with one hand over it like I’m hugging it. With my other hand, I lift my camera up as high as I can reach, close my eyes, find a soft smile, and snap the shot.

  When I see it, I grin. It’s perfect. Changing it to black and white like the photo Nate stole of me in my bikini, I post it to Instagram (my first posted selfie) with the simple caption: Love letter. (And a red heart emoji.)

  There’s a one hundred percent chance of Morgan showing it to Nate. I want him to know how much I love it, and I want him to know before snail mail will deliver a response from me. I’ll play his archaic game of pen pals, but that doesn’t mean I can’t post all the things I want him to see—things that have no real words, like the way I feel right now.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

  Nathaniel

  After telling Morgan the snow wouldn’t last, we get a foot of snow a week later and school gets let out early. Morgan skates her feet to my charcoal gray Mercedes-Benz SUV and slides into the backseat.

  “Hey! How was your day?”

  “Dad …” Her wide eyes peer at me in the rearview mirror. “You are not going to believe this.”

  “Okay …” I pull ahead ten feet and stop again as I make the slow trip through the school pickup line.

  “Look! LOOK!” She shoves her phone in my face. “I took a screen shot before leaving the building, since my dad is super mean and won’t let me have cellular service.”

  I take the phone from her, glance up to move my vehicle another ten feet before returning my gaze to the Instagram photo of Gracelyn. My heart practically breaks out of its cage.

  “Love letter! Dad, did you write her a love letter? Was it you? Please say it was you. I really want it to be you.”

  When the car behind me gives a gentle honk for me to go, I hand the phone back to Morgan. “I wrote her a letter. I’m not sure you could call it a love letter.”

  “Daaad … if you love her, then it’s a love letter. Do you still love her?”

  So much …

  “What do you want for dinner? I have makings for tacos.”

  “When Gabe and I turn eighteen, will you find her? Will you take her flowers and ask her to marry you?”

  I laugh, but it’s not that funny. Eight years. Imagining eight years to wait is pretty fucking painful. Four months has been its own hell. “One day at a time. I don’t like to wish my life away … wish your childhood away. A lot can happen in eight years.”

  “I know … she could marry someone else before then. Or you could marry someone here. If Mrs. Calloway weren’t married, you could marry her. Well, maybe not. You’re a lot older. Her husband brought her lunch last week, so the class got to meet him. He has tattoos and he’s so cute. After he handed her her lunch, he kissed her cheek, and everyone said aw. Her face turned red.”

  I don’t expect anything less. If I’m honest, I’ve wanted Swayze’s happiness far more than my own. “She married a real boyfriend.” I smile, knowing the joke is lost on Morgan. Daisy used to say she was using me until she found a real boyfriend. Griffin Calloway walked to the ends of the earth and slayed the Devil himself to save Swayze from the demons of her past. Daisy got her real boyfriend … just in a different life.

  “What’s a real boyfriend?”

  I glance back in the mirror to her cocked head and curious expression. “A boyfriend who loves you beyond reason, even when he’s not sure you love him the same way.”

  “I want one of those.”

  “In twenty years, baby girl … twenty years.”

  *

  Two weeks later …

  I stare at the envelope addressed to me from Gracelyn. I told my editor I’d have
the manuscript to her by tomorrow. If I open the letter and read it, I know my concentration to get the last few changes made will be shit. That’s why I can’t open it yet.

  Five minutes later, I open it.

  Dear Nate,

  Thank you for the letter. I follow Morgan on social media, so I get to see the occasional picture of you. The beard is perfection. I wish I could feel it. Is it soft or scratchy? How would it feel brushing along my inner thighs? Yes, I’m thinking that. A lot.

  I’m not even sorry.

  Unless you let Morgan read this. Please don’t let her read this.

  I adjust myself because she’s got me hard already just from that one sentence.

  Gabe had a great soccer season. He averaged two goals a game. I offered to put him in basketball, but he said it won’t be a lot of fun without a hoop outside. Guess who had a hoop installed in the driveway three days later? You guessed it. Mr. Hans is the best. I know I need to think ahead about finding a place of our own, but it makes me sad to think about leaving him. I feel like he’s grown to need us in an emotional way. Is that crazy?

  We’re going to Montana to spend Christmas with my parents. I think you’re right about how hard these holidays will be on Gabe. It will help to have as much family around him as possible. Mr. Hans is going to his daughter’s for Thanksgiving, so it will just be me and Gabe. I plan on making the full dinner. Did I ever mention I have mad cooking skills? I think I did.

  We might check with the hot single guy next door to see if he has plans. I bet he’ll appreciate my cooking. He doesn’t have the Scottish soldier look (only an elite few can pull that off), but he’s in his mid-thirties, drives a Tesla, wears tailored suits, and the talk in the neighborhood is that he likes older women.

  What have you been up to?

  I heard Morgan’s teacher was her nanny. There was also some mention of reincarnation of your childhood girlfriend. I feel like there’s a story there that could have been shared when I told you my deepest secrets???

  I’m humbled and so honored that Kyle and Emily chose me to take care of their son. I love Gabe to the moon and back. This is where I need to be. It’s where I want to be. Yet, I can’t bring myself to just BE happy. It’s complicated.