Page 14 of Lovetown, USA

Trey

Lane is outside waiting when I pull up. She’s changed into a blue sundress, and her hair is pulled up high in a ponytail or something. She looks adorable. You could almost forget how no nonsense she is.

I hop out and walk around to open her door. Her perfume hits me as she passes, and I almost close my eyes and moan a little. She always smells so sweet. And edible.

But that’s not why I’m here. I lay it on thick, even making sure I secure her seatbelt before I make my way back around to the driver’s side.

On the ride, I crank up some R&B, letting it play softly so I can talk to her.

“You look beautiful,” I say. And, okay, I really mean that shit. She does. She always does. But I’m on a mission here, so I keep going.

“And you smell amazing.”

“Thank you,” she purrs.

“I’m glad you let me come scoop you tonight.”

“Well, you were in luck. I was bored.”

I chuckle at that. “I’m the luckiest man in this city.”

She side-eyes me. “Where are you taking me, Lucky?”

“You’ll see.”

I ease down the main road, passing familiar storefronts lit up for the evening. Florists, the diner, the hardware store, the barbershop. Lane’s gaze lingers on everything, her curious eyes taking in every detail.

“I still can’t get over this,” she says softly. “This whole town feels like a movie set. Like if I knocked on one of the doors too hard, the wall would tip over and reveal an empty soundstage behind it.”

“Or,” I counter, “maybe you don’t trust what you see, so you project onto everything.”

That earns me a sharp look, but she doesn’t argue. She just folds her arms, tapping her nails against her skin, pretending she’s not annoyed.

I need to step it up. Get her in a good mood.

I make the last two turns and pull up in front of City Hall just as the sun dips below the horizon. It’s officially nighttime, and I’m officially on the clock with this little deal I made.

Five minutes later, we’re walking up the grand staircase and my eyes are glued to her ass in that sundress.

“Am I reporting for jury duty?” she tosses over her shoulder, making me chuckle.

“Just keep going,” I say, still staring, adjusting myself in my jeans.

At the top of the stairs, I take over, leading her to the library archives.

As soon as we enter, we’re surrounded by tall wooden shelves stacked with binders, boxes, and spines so old the gold lettering has rubbed off.

Dust particles float in the air caught in shafts of fading light from the high windows.

Lane pauses to look around, her face pleasant for the first time since I picked her up.

“This is…kind of amazing,” she admits.

“I figured you would appreciate it, you being a journalist.”

“Well, I’m a reader, too, first and foremost.” She takes a deep breath. “I love the smell of old books.”

I smile at that. “You know you just said the L word, right?”

“Shut up,” she teases, poking her elbow into my side.

“Come on. I wanna show you something.”

I lead her over to a long oak table where I’ve already arranged for our own private exhibit. Neat stacks of envelops cover half of the table, some yellowed, some sealed with wax, others folded into crisp squares.

Her eyes scan wildly. “What is this?”

“Love letters,” I say simply. “From the town’s archive. A few years ago, the historical society called for donated letters for a museum exhibit. Some of these go back decades.”

I can’t read her expression.

“Some were donated by couples. Some were donated by families after their loved ones passed away. Now they’re part of the historical record.”

She brushes a finger across the top of one stack, then reaches for the first letter. She’s careful, as if it might crumble in her hands. Her nails, painted a deep plum color, contrast against the pale, fragile paper.

She reads aloud, her voice softening as she goes. “ My dearest Ruby. I’ve been gone thirty-nine days, but I can still smell the bread you bake in the mornings…”

She pauses, then glances up at me. “Wow. Bread. The ultimate aphrodisiac.”

“Keep reading.”

“I think of you every time the sea spray hits my face. It feels like your laughter, sudden, infinite, and soothing. The other men keep pictures of their sweethearts in their pockets, but I keep your last letter folded up like a talisman. When I come home, I want to marry you, and build you a porch where you can read your novels, and a garden where you can plant those tulips you’re always talking about.

I want to build you a life where every day is sweeter and safer than the one before.

Wait for me, Ruby. I’ll be back.

Love, Gregory.”

She sets the letter down, letting several seconds pass before she looks up at me and says, “I guess that was sweet.”

Footsteps scurry across the floor behind us. I turn around, relieved that he’s finally here.

“Sorry, sorry.” The young man rushes over to the table and arranges several long candles down the center. “I got hung up with something.”

Lane watches him light each one, a slow smile spreading across her face. I take the seat next to her, dapping up my man once he’s finished.

“’Preciate it,” I tell him.

“My pleasure. Y’all have a good night.”

Once he’s gone, she turns to me. “Letters by candlelight. Awww. You’d think we hadn’t fucked already.”

I shake my head at that, glancing down at the date on the letter she read. “That’s from World War Two era. Interesting.”

“I wonder if he made it back,” she says softly, mostly to herself, before picking up another letter from the stack.

“Sadie, I saw you in the library today, your hair falling into your eyes as you read, and I swear the world tilted. I was supposed to be studying for chemistry, but all I could think about was how beautiful you are. It’s funny.

As soon as I got home, I forgot what you looked like, and now I want to spend every day gazing at your face.

I need to memorize it just in case you find me unworthy of your attention.

If you’ll let me, I’d like to spend every day proving myself worthy.

Tomorrow at dusk by the big oak tree? I’ll bring food. You bring that beautiful smile.

Dale.”

“That’s what I’m talking about,” I say. “Prove yourself. You can’t expect a good woman to fall into your arms without giving her a reason.”

Lane nods, her eyes still on the letter. “This says 1976.”

“Did you like that one?”

She lifts a shoulder. “It was cool.”

I grab one and carefully unfold it.

“Kay,

You’re my favorite hello, my hardest goodbye, and the reason I work so hard every day. I know I need to make it home to you, and not empty-handed.

I love you,

Simon.”

Lane is quiet for a moment. “What year is that one?”

“’84.”

She nods. “Makes sense. Nobody loves anybody like that anymore.”

She picks up another letter, turning it over in her hands. “Um, this one’s a utility bill.”

“What?” I snatch it out of her hands as she laughs.

“Just kidding.”

I hand it back to her. “This one’s modern.”

“1995,” she says. “ Shawna, I miss you more than words can say. Can I see you soon? I want to drive you up to Lover’s Bluff—“

She stops abruptly to snicker. “Lover’s Bluff? Nobody in this town owns a thesaurus?” She shakes her head. “What happened, Makeout Mountain didn’t test well?”

I laugh at that. “While you’re clowning, it’s still there. I could take you.”

“Whatever.” Her eyes sparkle with mischief. “This is painful.”

“Read.”

“Fine… drive you up to Lover’s Bluff and stare at the stars in the sky and the reflection of the moon in your big brown eyes.”

She smiles, and I feel the sharp edges rounding out. Her sarcasm softening. “Cute. But like I said, all of these are old. Nobody loves like this anymore.”

For the next several minutes, we both flip through the letters, reading silently, searching for something.

I find one particularly touching set of letters from a couple writing back and forth—even though they only lived three streets away from each other.

When I show Lane, she presses her lips together and says nothing.

“I found a recent one,” I say as I covertly slide the folded paper out of my pocket. “Wanna see?”

She holds out her hand, huffing out a laugh as I lay the crisp, sparkling white letter into her hand.

“To my future wife, whoever you are, I don’t know your name today. I may not know your name tomorrow. But I believe you’re out there waiting for me, and I want you to rest assured that when I find you, I’m ready to love you the way you deserve.”

She flips it over. “No name. Interesting. Well, whoever this is, he’s laying it on real thick.”

“Or he really means it.”

She doesn’t respond to that, instead keeping her eyes glued to the paper like the words are going to come alive.

I wait patiently, expecting…lowkey hoping something sappy comes out of her mouth that lets me know this is working the way it’s supposed to, but instead, she pushes the stack away and says, “I need a drink.”

I watch as she pulls a glittery silver flask out of her bag and takes a long pull. Before she puts it away, she holds it out to me. I refuse with a shake of my head, my stomach dropping as I realize this might be a problem.

She tucks it away, then puts her soft hand on my arm. “Let’s go to Lover’s Bluff.”

“Oh, for real?”

“For real, Mr. Romance. Show me what you got.”

“That, I can do.”

Twenty minutes later, I lower the top on my BMW.

Truthfully, this is my first time at Lover’s Bluff, so I’m just as enamored of the view as Lane is.

But I play it cool and watch the reflection of the moon in her eyes, which I thought was a cheesy fucking line in that letter, only to realize right this moment how special it feels.

“Stop staring at me,” she snaps, her smile disarming.

“How can I not?”

She finally tears her eyes away from the stars to rest them on me. “What’s the deal?”

“With?”

“You.” Her smile fades. “Why the romance all of a sudden? You already got some, and I didn’t plan to stop putting out any time soon, so…what’s up?”