Page 18 of The Alpha's Pen Pal

Another giggle burst through my lips as she moved her massaging up to my calf. I had to pinch my lips together to suppress the noise when she gave me a stern, reproachful glare. I looked over at my mom, and she smiled at me, trying to hold back her laughter.

“You get used to it after you’ve had it done enough times,” she said.

I nodded in response. I’d done nothing like this before, and I was not sure how often I’d be able to do it after this. If I stayed with Jack and Shirley, if they adopted me, then things like this could become a norm for me. But, if for whatever reason, I ended up being moved again or even adopted by another family, then who knew if I’d have a special pampering day like this again.

I overheard my parents talking again a few nights ago. They were working on getting the correct paperwork completed so they could apply to adopt me. From what I had heard, though, the process could take a long time.

They also wanted to ask me if it was something I wanted before they pulled the trigger. Of course, I would say yes. It was the first place, the first time I had felt I belonged. I hoped they knew. I hoped they knew I would say yes.

The rest of our time in the nail salon passed quickly, and before I knew it, we were heading back home, our purchases loaded into the trunk, our hair and nails looking nicer than ever.

I tried to hide how antsy I was during our drive, but Mom could see me squirming in the back seat. The mail would have been delivered while we were out, and it had taken much longer than I thought it would take to receive Wesley’s next letter.

I acted like it wasn’t bothering me, but the truth was, I was afraid he’d forgotten about me or become bored with our exchanges. Or maybe I scared him off with my brutal honesty about my situation with my parents.

Or maybe it was none of those things, and he’d just been busy, or the letter got sidetracked in the mail. Those two options seemed the most realistic, based on our interactions so far. But the large, insecure part of me, the part used to being rejected, kept telling me it was something bigger.

We pulled into the garage sooner than I would have liked. I took my time getting out of my seatbelt and out of the car. I didn’t want to face the disappointment of no letter from Wesley again, so went slower than usual, prolonging the inevitable.

“Haven? Can you come inside, please?” Mom called from inside the house.

I groaned, but I couldn’t put it off any longer. It was time to face the music. Time to face the reality that, yet again, Wesley’s letter hadn’t arrived.

I made my way towards the dining room, where Dad would be waiting for us to tell him about our day. I took my time looking over the ridiculous amount of Christmas decorations that adorned our living room.

Mom went all out, especially when I expressed an interest in helping her decorate. The previous year, I had only been there for a couple of months when it was Christmastime. I was still keeping to myself, spending most of my time in my room, reading.

It was fun to be included in choosing the decorations and helping decide where they should go. I could never decorate like this before—most of my previous families put up only the bare minimum of decorations—but Jack and Shirley encouraged me to put up as many of them as I wanted to and to put them wherever I wanted to.

The tree sat in the corner. It was the tallest tree we could have in the room and still be able to put the gold star on the top. There was a mix of white and multicolored lights wrapped from the top of the tree to the bottom. Since I could not decide between the two types of lights when we were in the store, Dad said we should just get both.

The ornaments on the tree were a mix of gold, red, and green bulbs, plus a random mix of ornaments Mom and Dad collected over the years. None of it really went together, but I didn’t care in the slightest, because it was something I had a part in creating, and I was proud of the tree Mom, Dad, and I put together.

I exited the living room through the archway that led into the dining room. I was greeted by my parents, both wearing wide, conspiratorial grins.

I looked back and forth between them, trying to figure out what was going on, when my eyes landed on a magnificently wrapped Christmas gift sitting in the middle of the table.

Immediately, I knew who it had to be from. There was only one person who would send me a gift. My stomach swarmed with butterflies as I stepped towards the table, and my palms began to sweat where I had my fingers clenched against them in fists.

I didn’t know why, but something about this moment felt important, like a turning point in not only my budding friendship with Wesley but also in my life.

Before I realized it, I had the gift unwrapped, and I reached in to pull out a beautiful, delicate music box.

The box itself was small, but not too small. It was a soft ivory color, decorated with gold phases of the moon, similar to the moons stitched on my blanket.

My breath shook, and tears formed in my eyes. I forced myself to blink them away. I didn’t know how he knew that music box was the perfect choice for me—I’d never told him how my blanket looked—but somehow, he saw that music box and just knew it was the one for me.

I reached around to the back, where there was a key to turn, and I wound up the box before I opened the lid.

Inside the box was a deep purple velvet. I couldn’t quite understand how he found the perfect box to send me. Maybe it was just coincidence, or maybe it was fate—but I was not questioning it anymore.

The music from the box was a lovely rendition of “The Waltz of the Flowers” fromThe Nutcracker.And yet again, I was struck by how perfect his choice of gift was for me.It was all beyond a coincidence. I didn’t follow any sort of religion, but clearly, it was all meant to be.

Nestled inside the box, safe within the confines of the lush, velvet interior, were two envelopes, both addressed to me. One had “read me first” written on it.

I opened the envelope, careful not to tear it apart. So far, I had saved each of Wesley’s letters inside their original envelope, and I wanted to do the same with this one. However, my hands shook from the flood of emotions overwhelming me.

Once the letter was out, I set it on the table and began to read.

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