Page 2 of Letter for Two (Sweet Treat Novellas #5)

E than could cook a couple dozen dishes that would impress even the pickiest foodie.

He’d finally found a way to ask Sophia over for dinner without seeming like a creepy housemate stalker, and he had nothing remotely impressive to serve.

It hadn’t even occurred to him that being on his second twelve-hour shift in two days, with a third looming on the horizon, would mean dinner would have to be something out of the freezer.

He pulled the two-serving-sized lasagna from the oven. The pan was hot enough to nearly burn his hand through the hot pad. He dropped it on the stove top, shaking the heat off his fingers.

“This is pathetic.”

He glanced at the clock. She’d be here in a few minutes.

The table was set, and he’d cleaned up the place.

Ethan slipped down the hall to take a quick look at himself in the bathroom mirror.

He’d looked better. But back-to-back twelves took a toll on a person.

He mussed his hair a little with his fingers. Better. At least he wasn’t in scrubs.

The bell rang in the very next moment. Sophia.

He looked his reflection dead in the eye. “Don’t blow this. It may be your only chance.”

Ethan kept his posture casual. He was already afraid he reeked of desperation; there was no point looking desperate as well.

He pulled open the front door. There stood Sophia in a black skirt and blue top. She looked amazing in blue.

“Hey.” That was stupid. He jumped right to, “Come on in.”

“Smells good.” Sophia smiled as she stepped inside. She had a great smile. A really great smile. “Lasagna?”

He nodded, walking beside her on the way to the kitchen. “And steamed broccoli.” He hoped she liked broccoli.

Ethan moved the lasagna from the stovetop to the table.

“Is this the fancy meal you bragged you were going to cook?” Sophia asked, eying the pan.

“I ran out of time,” he confessed. “I had a five-to-five shift today.”

“I’m not complaining. Frozen Italian food happens to be one of my specialties as well. Though microwavable enchiladas is my signature dish.”

He set the glass bowl of broccoli on the table. “I did steam these from fresh. That’s impressive, right?”

“Sure.”

Sophia Davis was in his house. At his table. Smiling at him. Don’t mess this up.

“How was work?” he asked. “Did the computers behave themselves?”

“They always do.” She dished herself some lasagna. “Computers only do what we tell them to.”

He spooned broccoli on his plate. “And if my computer runs slow and freezes up all the time?”

Sophia laughed a little. “You’re sending it mixed messages. Or you seriously need an upgrade.”

He pointed at her with his empty fork. “Computers really hit their stride in the late 90s. Why would I replace a classic?”

“Please tell me you don’t actually have a thirty-year-old computer.”

He kept his expression na?ve. “Why, would you recommend something newer?”

“As a general rule, the age of your computer should be single digits.”

Ethan shook his head, pretending to be frustrated. “If only I’d known this twenty years ago.”

“Don’t be too hard on yourself.” Her serious expression was exaggerated to the point of being comical. “I am a professional, after all.”

Ethan poured her a glass of water; he had nothing else to offer. He always made a desperate grocery run at the end of his three days.

“How was your day?” Sophia asked.

“Not too bad,” Ethan said. “One patient was finally discharged after a long, tough few days. It should have been a simple recovery.” He shrugged as he swallowed a bite of lasagna. “Sometimes you just don’t know.”

Sophia nodded, not pressing for more information.

He’d explained once, during one of their first mail exchanges, that HIPAA laws and privacy rules prevented him from saying much about his patients— nothing specific, and no names.

She’d accepted that without question or complaint.

He appreciated that. His last girlfriend— not that Sophia was his new girlfriend— had resented that, insisting he “didn’t want to talk to her” and heavily hinting he was hiding something.

“A five-to-five shift?” Sophia asked. “That sounds brutal.”

He nodded, swallowing another mouthful. “My second of three. I do three days on and three days off. Tomorrow's going to be killer.”

“I’m surprised you had the energy to pull the lasagna out of the freezer.”

Ethan shrugged. “I do what I can.”

They laughed and talked through dinner without a single awkward pause.

Sophia was easy to talk to. She didn’t ever seem bored by talk of his work.

And he enjoyed hearing her talk about what she was working on— he didn’t understand all the technical aspects of it, but she got so excited explaining it all that he listened, mesmerized.

When they were done, she helped clear dinner and rinse the dishes before he loaded them in the dishwasher. It sure beat doing it all on his own.

“Where’s your ancient computer?” she asked when they’d finished. “We have a letter to research.”

“Living room,” he said.

"Can it even get on the internet?” she asked as they walked out of the kitchen. “I'm told that was pretty new stuff back in the nineties.”

“It sends telegrams.”

A minute later she was sitting on his couch, his laptop— the one he’d bought only a couple years earlier— on her lap. Ethan tried to act nonchalant as he pushed a dirty sock under the couch with his foot. He sat next to her, telling himself to not be a complete loser.

“So how do we find out who was living here in 1966?” Her eyes narrowed as she looked at Google open on the screen.

“Census records?” Ethan suggested.

“Good idea.” She nodded. “How about the 1960 census?”

“Sounds good to me.” He watched her as she typed. Did that make him a stalker?

Sophia’s forehead scrunched up as she read the words on the screen. It made him smile. She was even cuter that way than usual, and that was saying something.

“Hmm.”

“What?” he asked.

“Doesn’t look like the 1960 census is available online.” She looked over at him, disappointment heavy in her brown eyes. “Should we try 1950?”

“It’s worth a try. If Eleanor was here in ’66, she might have been there in ’50.”

Sophia leaned back. She typed a new search in. After a few more clicks, her face lit up. “Here we go.”

She turned a little so the screen faced him more.

Ethan hesitantly took that as an invitation.

He moved ever so slightly closer but made sure she could tell he was doing so to get a better look at the computer.

For all he knew, she thought of him as nothing more than a friend.

Pushing that wouldn’t do his cause any good.

Sophia filled in the state, county, city information then the street name and nearest crossroad.

Ethan let out a long whistle when the search completed. “Thirty-six pages of results.”

She scrolled up and down on the census image. “This isn’t exactly straight forward. We’ll have to scroll through to find the right street.”

“I’ve got time.” Did that sound casual enough?

They scrolled through page after page searching for their street name and house number.

He’d never looked through census records before but kind of enjoyed it.

They got caught up reading about people’s occupations, where they’d lived before coming to Phoenix, how many children they had.

They found unique names they’d never heard before and tried to pronounce them.

“Here it is.” Sophia sat up straight, her eyes darting from him to the computer screen and back again. “Our address. Right here.”

He scooted a little closer. Man, she smelled good. Focus, Ethan.

“Is there an Eleanor?” he asked.

She moved her finger along the screen, not quite touching it. She went from one line to the other, shaking her head as she did.

“No Eleanor.” She sounded as disappointed as he felt.

“Her family could have moved in after 1950.” That seemed more and more like the case.

Sophia leaned back against the couch again, watching him. “Where should we look next? We can’t get to the 1960 census or the one from 1970.”

Ethan gave it as much thought as he could while sitting this close to her. “Tax records?” It was the first thing that came to mind.

She typed in a new search. Then another. Part of him was glad the task hadn’t proven quick and easy. He’d spend the whole evening with her, looking for Eleanor. Once they found her, Sophia would leave.

“The county assessor’s site is down,” Sophia said.

“Sounds like they need an IT professional.” Ethan gave her a pointed look.

“They can’t afford me,” she answered.

“I’ll have to remember that next time I have a computer emergency.”

“Nah.” She pushed his shoulder with hers. “I won’t charge you for consultations if you’ll check out my next sore throat.”

“Deal.” A very welcome deal, in fact.

“And maybe we can check the assessor’s site tomorrow.”

“Over dinner?” he suggested, doing his best to keep the hopefulness out of his face and tone.

“My place this time,” she said.

“Sounds good.” But in his head, he was saying, That counts as a date, right?