I frown: what the hell?
I turn the envelope upside down and a tiny spray bottle falls out onto the countertop.
I pick it up and read the little label.
Elliot Miles—Love Potion.
I roll my lips to suppress my smile, hold it to my nose, and close my eyes as a flood of memories runs through me. It’s Elliot’s aftershave.
Hmmm.
I read on.
I’m writing to you with the greatest of news, you are to be a GG, also known as a Goat Grandma.
I put my hand over my mouth and burst out laughing. What the hell?
The veterinarian has just left and he has confirmed my suspicions. Gretel your goat is pregnant. The expected arrival date is in 40 days, and I can’t wait.
Finally, some good news.
I hope you are well?
I hope you know how much of my strength it’s taking to not come to you.
Please know how much you are missed.
Forever yours,
Elliot
ox
Short and sweet. My heart swells and I bite my lip.
I pick up the tiny spray bottle and hold it to my nose . . . smells like heaven.
Elliot Miles.
I read the letter again . . . and again, and then I do as he asks.
I spray the letter with his cologne.
And with a big smile on my face, and the scent of Elliot Miles swimming around me, I read it again.
Chapter 26
I smile as I mix the paint in my palette; who knew I would love this so much.
It’s taken me back to a time when I was happy and carefree . . . I also have to admit, Elliot’s letter yesterday has lifted my spirits.
He gets it.
He could have come here and talked me around and dragged me home . . . but he’s letting me work this out for myself.
I hear a car pull up and I go and look out of the window. It’s the van. I smile.
I open the door in a rush to see the delivery driver get out of his van with another red envelope.
“Pinkie?” he calls.
“That’s me.” I beam.
“Two letters in two days, someone’s getting spoilt. Sign here please.”
I sign with a smile on my face. “What was your name?” I ask.
“Richard.”
“Thanks, Richard.” I take my letter and breeze up my steps and, once inside, I tear it open. Just like the last letter, I tip the envelope up and the little bottle falls out.
I read the label and giggle.
Elliot Miles—Love Potion.
My dearest Pinkie,
In light of my inability to call you, and not wanting to stalk you, serial-killer style, I have decided to go old school and write you a letter.
To receive a total package experience, please spray this letter with the spray that is enclosed in the envelope.
In light of your various fetishes, I will oblige you.
Enclosed is a picture for your personal spank bank, use it willingly and often.
I frown. What?
I search in the envelope and, inside, there’s a photograph wrapped in white paper.
I tear it open and laugh. It’s a picture of Elliot’s bare feet, crossed at the ankles and resting up on an ottoman. He’s sitting on his deck with the lake and his beautiful Enchanted rolling green hills in the background.
There’s a glass of Scotch on the side table and he’s wearing grey sweatpants.
I frown as I stare at it. Maybe he’s onto something. This picture makes me want to be there. I keep reading.
I hope you are well, my days are long, my nights are longer.
You are missed, my love.
Forever yours,
Elliot.
xo
P.S. have you started knitting collars for your grandkids yet?
Apparently, twins are common. I’m not nervous at all.
I smile as my eyes linger on the letter; I pick up the little bottle and spray the paper.
I hold it to my nose and inhale deeply, and Elliot Miles in all his glory swims around me.
These quirky little letters that are so him, mean a lot.
I smile. It’s a good day.
ELLIOT
Christopher pops his head around the door. “You want to grab some lunch?”
I glance up. “Umm . . .” I do, but I don’t want him to see where I have to go on the way.
“I’m good, thanks anyway.”
“You have to eat.”
“I know that, I just . . .” I pause as I think of an excuse. “I have to go to the post office later, I’ll grab something on the way there.”
Christopher frowns as he walks in. “Why would you go to the post office?”
“To have an eight-course banquet, what do you think?” I mutter dryly as I turn back to my computer.
He sits on the edge of my desk. “Heard from Kate?”
“No.” I hit my keys. “What makes you say that?”
“You haven’t been out, you haven’t seen anyone else. You’ve barely left your property other than to come to work.”
“So?”
“She’s been gone nearly six weeks, Elliot.”
“And your point is?” I snap, exasperated.
“She’s not coming back, man.”
“Listen,” I bark. “Kate is my business, and what happens between us is none of yours. I fucked up, and come hell or high water, I’m going to fix it.”