Page 4 of Wyatt the Military Veteran

Another wave of frustration crashes through me. I hate that Kennedy is being treated so poorly by him. She doesn't deserve it. No one does.

Placing the letter with the other ones I've saved, my eye catches on the sweet message she left on the envelope again.

Thanks for delivering me! :)

A crazy idea bursts to life as I trace the words.

What if I write Kennedy back?

She opened the door by addressing me first, right?

“Sure, let's go with that,” I mutter judgmentally. But I can't shake the thrill of writing to her and potentially getting a response in return.

“Fuck it.” Ripping out a sheet of paper from a notebook, I scribble down a quick reply before common sense reminds me why this is a bad idea.

***

Dear Kennedy,

You don't know me, but I saw the ‘thank you’ note on your letter to Chris, and it made me smile. So I figured I should let you know how much I appreciated the kind gesture since there's not a lot to cheer a guy up out here.

I don't say that to make you feel sorry for me, just to let you know that even the smallest things can have a big impact.

Anyway, I hope the wedding at the lodge goes smoothly. I'm confident you've got everything under control.

Thanks again for your message.

Yours,

Wyatt Lincoln

CHAPTER FOUR

KENNEDY

“Hey, Gramps.” I bend to kiss my grandpa's leathery cheek.

He peers up through his glasses and grins. “How's it going?” The book of Sudoku he’s working on gets set aside in favor of giving me his full attention, and I sink into the sofa next to his favorite recliner.

“Same old, same old.” I force a grin, even if contentment is the furthest thing from my mind.

Unfortunately, Gramps has always been able to see through my lies.

“What's going on?” he asks. “You don't seem happy. Is Sheree's son giving you trouble?”

The whole town seems to know about my writing relationship with Chris, except for the fact that he doesn't respond to my letters. You’d think the postal worker tattling about our correspondence would include that tiny detail. Of course, Sheree is another possible culprit—gossiping about her matchmaking skills without the proof to back up her claims of success.

“No, everything is fine. It's just been a stressful week.”

“Which is why we do these dinners,” Griffen hollers from his place in the kitchen.

He’s our grandpa's caretaker, on top of the odd jobs he does at the lodge. It’s been four years since Grandma diedand Grandpa's arthritis began acting up. Although to be fair to Gramps, he’s still fairly independent for an eighty-year-old, but we all feel better knowing someone is here for him in case anything ever happens.

“I know. I know.”

Family dinners every Sunday. They’re meant to be a time to relax and connect, but these days, the routine is starting to feel monotonous. All of us work hard and don’t have much of a personal life to speak of.

Except for Beckett. But what he does in private isn’t appropriate for family dinner discussion.

---