Dear Killian (Love Letters 1)

Shit. Oh my God! He wrote me back! Tossing everything onto the table, I flop down onto the couch and tear it open. Before I unfold the paper, I hold it close to my face and inhale.

Spicy.

I’m so weird. The poor man has no idea.

Dear J,

So is that really your name? You just go by a letter, or is it a nickname? I have to admit your letter is the first anonymous letter I’ve opened. I’ve gotten several over the years, but I didn’t really have a desire to converse with people I don’t know. Your blind date reference is on point in regards to it.

I have a feeling I’m going to like talking to you though. You’re… refreshing. In just a few words you had me laughing harder than I have in a long time.

Now since we’re doing this blind date thing, maybe you’d like to know a few things about me? My name is Killian St. James, I’m thirty-seven years old, this is my final tour before retirement. I’ll be state side again in six months and I can’t wait to get out of this desert.

I enjoy target shooting, quirky women who don’t know when to shut it ;), and star gazing. Corny as hell I know, but there’s almost nothing better than a clear sky at night with nothing but the stars for light.

Ugh. And I’ve gone all lonely old man on you. Sorry.

You think you’re awkward, come to the desert with these young bucks and you’ll see some straight up weirdness.

I should be heading to bed now, it was a long night of patrol.

Hope to hear from you soon J. Maybe a little more about you too.

Stay weird.

Killian.

My foolish heart melts. My sense of humor perks up. My mind blanks. The fact he wrote back is amazing. That he has a similar sense of weirdness is kind of hot. I wonder what he looks like?

Thirty-seven, he has to be a silver fox.

I shiver thinking of him, and what he looks like in his uniform.

Stashing his letter in a box, I get right to work on writing him back. Telling him only enough not to scare him off.

Smiling as I finish, I wonder if he’ll notice?

Chapter Three

Killian

Five more months. I can handle these privileged little pricks until then. Honestly I’d like to toss their immature asses off base instead. Cursing the idiots under my command, I make my way to my desk with an armful of paper work from their stupid stunt when I see it.

Capt. K. St. James.

I’d recognize that writing anywhere. She must have sent it by courier for it to be here in only a week since I was notified of the one I’d delivered to her.

I feel like some punk teenage boy as excitement bubbles to the surface. I’d read her other letter at least a dozen times since I received it, and every time it made me laugh. Made me crave to actually meet her.

Stuffing it in the top drawer of my desk, I quickly work my way through the stack of paperwork in a better mood then when I’d walked in.

Finally finished by sun down, I go lay on my bunk. Ripping through the envelope, I read.

Captain,

I have to admit that’s less intimidating than Killian. Though I kind of love that name too. It’s so unique. It took soooooo long for your letter to come, I was actually terrified you thought I was too weird to write back. I’m kind of relieved you seem to be every bit as quirky as I am.

J is not my name. It’s not even a nick name really. It’s a boring ol’ letter I give to people until I can size them up and figure out if they’ll make fun of my name or forget.