Chapter 22

twenty-two

LUKE

I need advice.

Of all my siblings, there’s only one who comes to mind that could keep my thoughts secret. The path leading to the giant overlook in the middle of the farm is dark, but I’m fine using the light of the moon and stars to get there.

It originated as a treehouse, a place we all loved to climb and hide when we wanted to pretend we were somewhere else. Space, a submarine, a castle—our imaginations ran wild.

At one point, we had a rope ladder. My sisters loved to roll it up and pretend they were Rapunzel, making us bellow out requests for them to “let down their long hair” so we could gain access. I was glad when Dean ratted them out because that’s when we built actual stairs. My sisters just switched to sheets, but we could ignore them and climb up, anyway.

“It’s me,” I say as I knock on the entrance.

Violet looks up from her book, eyes sparkling. “This is a nice surprise.”

My cowboy hat catches on the door frame as I duck in, so I take it off and bend down enough to maneuver my way to her. The ceilings are low for most adults, but that doesn’t stop it from being an incredibly popular attraction. With my height, I’ve long outgrown this space, but it’s nostalgic and quiet. I see why she still hides up here.

“Whatcha reading?”

She’s tucked into a corner with pillows stuffed behind her back and a blanket in her lap.

“Nothing exciting, I’m afraid.” She shrugs and angles the book so I can see the cover. “Just a book about flowers.”

“Are you thinking about some new varieties for the spring?”

“Maybe. I’ll try them out in the greenhouse first. Always thinking ahead to the next event.” She marks her page with a bookmark and looks at me expectantly as I fold my legs into a somewhat agreeable position. “You didn’t come up here to talk about flowers.”

“Maybe I did.”

Violet squints her eyes like she can see into my head. “No. It’s definitely not that.”

“So, what do you think it is?” I give up and lean on an opposite wall, my legs stretched out in front of me. A pillow flies at my face.

“I know what it is. Or should I say who ? Ella.”

My hands travel along the pumpkins embroidered into the pillow as I consider how much I want to tell her. There’s a pretty substantial age gap between us of about nine years, but that’s never really affected our relationship. Something about being the oldest and the youngest, I guess. She’s wise beyond her years, and I know that she’ll be the most likely to listen without judgement.

“What makes you say that?”

“Luke.” She scoffs and throws another pillow at me. “You dropped everything this afternoon to be with her. It’s not rocket science.”

I did. And the guilt is pressing down on my chest. My family needs me to make sure we’re ready to go tomorrow, but Ella needed support. She would never ask, but it was clear—once Gran knocked me out of my pity party—that she’s been holding her own for far too long.

“You made the right choice, by the way. We’d have only been mad if you didn’t do it.”

I meet her eyes then. I’m struggling to decide on a starting place. There’s a build-up of secrets and feelings that span over a decade that I’ve kept locked away in a chest, more guarded than Davy Jone’s heart.

“This can’t leave this tower, Violet.”

“Is Ella okay?” Concern paints her pretty face as she brushes a stray hair out of her face.

“Yes? I think so. It’s not really about Ella—not directly.” The words are clumsy as they tumble out of my mouth.

“You’ve got feelings for her,” she replies softly.

I bend my knees and drag them closer so I can rest my elbows on them. “I wish it were that simple.”

“Let’s make it simple, then. Tell me.”

“It’s not just Ella.”

Her eyes round almost comically as she absorbs that information. “Explain.”

“You know the enchanted mailboxes?”

Violet nods.

“I sent a letter. It was a joke—I never thought I’d get anything back. But I did, and she was funny. Undeterred by my arguments that one of you—or a bunch of you—were obviously running around hand-delivering these letters to mess with us. But eventually I decided it wasn’t any of you.”

“You— Mister magic belongs in the manure pile —sent letters through the enchanted mailboxes.” She presses a hand to her chest like I’ve just revealed an earth-shattering secret. “The ones that match soulmates?”

“Yes. A lot of them.”

She draws her blanket up closer, clutching it as she processes. “Is it Ella?”

“I never found out who it is. We met at Midnight in the Hollow about a decade ago.”

I’ve thought about this for a long time. There’s no definitive proof. There are commonalities between ShutterBelle—or L—that are hard to ignore, but there are differences, too.

“Do you think it’s her?”

“If it’s not, it’s a huge coincidence that I never got another letter after Ella left.”

She chews on her bottom lip. “What happened the night you met?”

“I wanted them to be the same person. After what Charlotte did to Ella, I realized my feelings went a lot deeper than I thought.” My gut twists with the admission. They’re words I’ve never actually said out loud. “I never saw Ella at the dance, but I asked for help so she could still go to the dance. So… maybe I couldn’t recognize her.”

“You mean… magical help.” She waits patiently for my confirmation.

“Not with the Golds,” I reply.

Her shoulders droop with relief. “That’s good. Really really good.”

“We had a great time and there was a connection. She kissed me.”

“This is better than a romance novel,” Violet says, scooting closer. She’s enjoying this way too much.

She doesn’t even know a fraction of how true that is. There’s a patch of wildflowers I planted in a meadow years ago, just to give Ella something to find on her quiet walks around the farm. I know how much she loves fresh flowers.

Violet has often wondered how they appeared and just chalked it up to magic.

Nope. Just a sappy older brother.

“Sorry to disappoint you, but her phone alarm went off. The mood changed, and she ran away. Poof. Gone.”

“And then Ella was gone, too.”

“Yep,” I say.

I’ve thought about that night a lot over the years. There’s no doubt there was a connection between L and me, but I’ve never shaken that feeling . Like peering at our farm in a thick fog. That feeling of familiarity is strong, but I can’t recognize certain aspects right away.

If we’d had more time, could I have figured out who she was?

Curiosity has me wanting the answer to that question. Not because I want to restart anything, but because Ella is back in my life. If there’s a chance of anything between us, anything , I need to know if she was the one writing these letters.

When I wrote to her, I needed a connection. I suppose I still do. But magic dictates that she’s my soulmate, and it just doesn’t sit well. It’s not something I think I believe in anymore.

And if I did, I think it might be Ella. Spending most of my day with her dredged up all the emotions I’ve kept buried; ones I’ve honestly wondered if I could feel ever again. A problem since suddenly we’re in a fake relationship.

Ella’s rules feel sort of ridiculous, but maybe they’re for the best. I tend to leap before I look with people I care about, and today is solid proof of that. Guilt pricks at me when I think about leaving Lucy to my family through bedtime.

This is exactly why I’ve been adamant about not dating anyone. Lucy is number one in my life, and that’s where she needs to stay. Ella leaving all those years ago, had nothing to do with me. But her future hinges on her stepmother—again—and I can’t afford to risk my heart, or Lucy’s, on possibilities.

No matter how curious I am about what those look like.

I’m not sure what I’m looking for by dumping all of this on my sister. Especially when I’m not telling her everything. Without the full story, she can’t give me useful advice. There’s too many variables.

Violet is quiet for a long time. The branches creak as the old tree shifts; the leaves rustling in the wind. It won’t be long before they fall, and the only greenery on the farm will be the evergreens in the far field.

“Have you written any more letters?”

“In the beginning. Then only once a year.”

Violet hums, chewing on her lip. “Nothing in response?”

I shake my head.

“You know, I’ve actually never known anyone that used the enchanted mail system. I wasn’t sure it was real, you know, with all the stories.”

“Oh, it’s real,” I mumble.

She straightens, grabbing a pillow and clutching in her lap. “Then why don’t you just write a letter and ask?”

My entire body tenses. “What?”

“A letter, goofball. Write to this person and just ask: ‘Are you Ella Taylor?’”

Nausea crests in my belly, and I don’t think it was the overabundance of food we had for dinner. Although the churro bites were probably overkill.

“I can’t do that, Vi.”

“Why not?” she demands. “Would you rather keep wondering if she is or if she isn’t? ”

Everything she’s saying makes perfect sense, but it feels wrong . What if it’s not?

But what if it is??

“No. We haven’t written in years. That can’t be the first letter I send her.”

She smoothes a hand across her forehead, a teasing smile on her lips. “I had no clue you were so… romantic. This is a lot to take in. Have you always been like this?”

“Forget I said anything—” I shift to stand, groaning as my muscles and joints protest. Even with all the chaos of today, it’s still the least I’ve done physically in weeks.

“Stop.” She lays a hand on my arm. “I’m happy for you. If you’ll actually do something about it. You deserve to be happy after everything.”

“You’re putting the cart miles ahead of the horse here.” I settle onto my knees.

“Am I? You’re clearly battling some feelings here. You obviously have feelings for Ella that have been around quite a while.”

I’m too tired to protest. Does it really matter how I feel?

She’s here for a job. One that’s so important to her she’s willing to pretend to date me to give it her all. And while I know why, it still murks the waters between us.

“I don’t know what happens beyond this wedding, Violet.”

“Then ask,” she answers. “All I’m hearing are problems that have easy solutions. I understand if you’re afraid of the answers. But it’s got to be better than carrying all this around.”

“The situation with Ella is complicated. I know that because I asked.” I glare at her.

Give me a little credit.

“What about mystery girl?”

I sigh. This is a conversation we should have when I’m not ready to curl up and sleep on a wood floor. Point two for the leap before I look category.

“I’m not even sure how the magic works with the letters.”

“What do you mean?” she asks.

“I told you I wrote letters with no response. So either ShutterBelle wasn’t here, and the magic is confined to the town, or…”

“Nope.” She wags her finger. “There’s no second option here. She didn’t run from you . I’ve read enough books to know that.”

“This isn’t a romance novel. Didn’t mom and dad buy y’all any non-fiction? Mysteries? A good thriller?”

But she knows what I’m saying without saying it out loud. I might not have ever told anyone about how my heart broke the first time, but they all bore witness when Aubrey left me. None of them knew it was an entirely different type of break. She wasn’t ever a soulmate type. In fact, I think that’s what appealed to me.

I fully believed she couldn’t hurt me that way. And she wouldn’t have if we hadn’t had Lucy. She stole an unsuspecting piece of my heart when she gave me our daughter and smashed it to pieces when she walked away from us.

Ella might not have run from me specifically. And maybe my mystery pen pal didn’t either. But when you pair that with what Aubrey did, it’s not something I can forget. I’m not just protecting me, I’m protecting Lucy.

“This isn’t a book,” I repeat as she wraps her arms around me.

“No. But if your mystery pen pal really is Ella, she had a lot on her plate.”

“So what do I do?”

“You send a letter. Find out if she’s here. If it still goes unanswered, it’s a moot point, right? ”

“And if she does?”

“Then get to a point where you’re comfortable asking who she is. I don’t know enough about the mailboxes to be helpful here, but if the letters still get delivered to each of you—you’re still somehow tied together. Wouldn’t you want to know if that person is Ella?”

Yes.

I laid in bed night after night for months after she left, wishing I’d just chased after El. Maybe I could’ve gotten her to answer me and everything could’ve been different.

“If it’s any consolation, I’ll be rooting for you that your mystery girl is Ella. I’ve always thought you’d be wonderful together.”

“You need to stay away from Gran. Little matchmaker.”

“She thinks so, too? That’s downright delightful, big brother.” She squeezes me. “It’s going to be fun watching the two of you work on this wedding now that I know all of this is going on behind the scenes.”

I probably should tell her about the fake dating part, since we’ve got a part to play every time we’re around Holly. Eventually, my family will ask questions. But honestly, I just want to go crawl into bed and figure out what to do with it tomorrow.

“I’m heading to bed. Morning’s going to come early.”

“By the way—what’s going on with those pumpkins?”

Somehow, all this with Ella distracted me from the whole mess in the west field.

“Just another mystery,” I grumble as I stumble to a mostly standing position. “Thanks for listening.”

“All I ask is that you keep me updated. I’m fully invested in this now.”

“Of course you are.”

Her tinkling laughter follows me all the way down the stairs.