Page 21 of My Dearest Mackenzie

I began to pace. “You’re kidding, right? And you think using a cutesy nickname for the heartless man you call boss is going to help your case?”

“I can send someone to you, to pick them up—”

“No, you can’t. I’m not parting with those. Your boss will probably light them on fire for funsies.”

“Millsy doesn’t do funsy.”

“No kidding.”

“Look, Frankie, I like you. I’ve said it before. Mack is complicated. I don’t know what the letters are or what they mean, but he said to tell you he’d look at them himself so you can talk after. That’s his offer.”

I blew out a long breath, a strand of hair flying in front of my face.

“I don’t accept the terms. And, as I said before, I’m over Mack. But if he wants to read the letters, I can bring them and sit in an adjacent office. That way, if I smell smoke, I’ll know there’s been foul play. That’s my offer.”

“I’ll take it back to him. God, I adore you for him. It’s like I picked you myself, but you fell out of the sky like manna from heaven.”

I was about to argue—I wasn’t manna, and I didn’t believe in heaven… But I didn’t have a chance because Corey hung up as soon as he was finished speaking.

I sat in my study, the tidy plastic box on the table in front of me. I was the opposite of tidy, sweating like I was working out despite the air-conditioning being on sixty-seven. I’d known there was no other choice but to agree to this arrangement.

Everything I accused Frances of being, I knew to be true. She believed in happy endings and fairy tales, and probably castles too. Although she wasn’t the type of woman you could hurt and be easily forgiven. For every ounce of sweet running through her veins, there was venom in equal measure. If you cut her, she bit back. With fangs.

Corey handled the arrangements, sending a car to pick Frances up at her place and transport her to my apartment, letters in tow, the way she suggested. Actually, she’d offered to bring them to the office, but there was no way I could do this sort of thing in a public place.

Which was how I found myself sitting here in a fever pitch, on a Sunday no less, a week and a half after I’d deserted Frances. Of course she’d played hardball and said this was her first available date and she wouldn’t be separated from her treasured letters.

Now she sat waiting in my living area, hopefully sipping the latte my housekeeper prepped for her before leaving. Magda usually took off Sunday for church and family, but I’d asked for a favor—one hour to help Frances get settled. Magda had looked at me like I’d spoken a foreign language. The ask was so unusual, she’d agreed.

In the current moment, I regretted everything about the day so far.

Unclipping the side of the container, I peered inside. Forty-seven letters, each one seemingly placed back in its envelope. Thinking she kept them in chronological order, I lifted the top one, sliding my finger inside the envelope and delicately pulling out the sheet of paper.

Noting the date on top, January 1st, I assumed this was the very first one.

My Dearest James,

Reading the salutation had me as unraveled as the first time I’d heard it spoken. I had been Milly’s “Dearest Mackenzie” all my life, and to now hear she used that same sentiment for someone else shook me.

It wasn’t jealousy, but rather shock. If I was being honest, I hadn’t really put a lot of stock in Frankie’s story before the exact moment she spoke about the letters. Sadly, she was hot and had piqued my interest, mentally and physically, so I went along with her ruse until she dropped the bomb on me—the Dearest modifier changed things. It proved she might be onto something, and Milly had held something close to her heart without telling me.

It also changed Milly’s final letter to me and her wish for me to find true, everlasting love.

I shook my head. I couldn’t think about my letter now when I had a stack of new-to-me ones I needed to get through.

Leaning forward, I cast my eyes on the letter again.

My Dearest James,

My resolution in the new year is to write a letter to you every week, so you don’t forget me. Or us. The day will come where we can’t be together. You know that, right?

After my first kiss, I will never, ever, ever forget you.

I can’t believe you kissed me last night at midnight, hanging from my windowsill, but it’s burned in my memory like the day we met.

I can’t believe how many times I ran into the corner store for something my mama needed and might have seen you but didn’t. Why? Because I’d been raised to be prim and not look at men. When I ran into your chest, it was destiny. Of course, I wasn’t looking where I was going, and I knew the moment I hit your body that it was meant to be.

Meeting you has been the highlight of all my days.

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