Beauty and the Mustache (Knitting in the City #4)(61)
Author: Penny Reid

I ignored them and handed the book to Jethro.

Jethro fanned open the book and a slip of paper fell out. It had been tucked in the very back where the pages were blank. He retrieved it from the floor and handed it to me. “There’s my note.”

I opened it up, gave him one last look, then read the words on the paper.

Dear Ash,

I saved this from a campfire for you. Drew tossed it in when he thought I was asleep, then he walked away. I pulled it out because I suspected I knew what it was. Sorry the edges are burnt. I fished it out as soon as I could.

When you were here, while Momma was dying, he wrote in it every day. I saw him at work. When you left, he carried it everywhere he went.

I read the first two pages, and I knew you needed to see this because Drew is a good man and you’re a good woman. You both deserve to be happy.

I know you got a life in Chicago and it’s a good one. I like your friends and I think you should keep them. But I also saw how sad you were when you left, and I think only half of that was because of Momma.

Also, not that we get a say in things, but I’m sure I speak for all of us when I say it sure would be nice having you closer by.

Love, your brother,

Jethro

I placed my fingertips to my lips when I got to the part he carried it everywhere he went.

My chin began to wobble when I read I like your friends and I think you should keep them.

The first tear fell at I think only half of that was because of Momma.

And I was a blubbery mess when Jethro confessed it sure would be nice having you closer by.

Jethro walked to me and gave me a hug. It occurred to me that I’d cried more since August than I had in my entire life. I’d also received more hugs from my brothers than I had in my entire life.

“I didn’t know it was you. I didn’t know.” I cried into his sweater, gripping the front of his jacket.

“Well, who else could it have been?”

“I thought it was Drew.” I confessed on an epically big, ridiculous, movie-worthy, embarrassing sob. Jethro’s revelation changed everything. I was never meant to see the notebook. He never wanted to share those feelings with me. He wanted to burn it. He’d walked away—from me, from the possibility of us—and I’d stupidly sent him my heart in the mail.

“So it was you?” Fiona asked, seeking to clarify for the group. “You sent her the journal?”

Jethro nodded. “Yep. I thought I was helping.”

“What’s in it?” Elizabeth asked. “What is so terrible that it’s thrown you into this kind of depression?”

I hiccupped, sniffled, and tried to explain through my tears that it wasn’t terrible. I tried to explain that the book meant the world to me. Then I tried to explain why I was in my deep, deep funk.

“I stayed up all night reading it. It was…it was just…it moved my soul. So I wrote him a letter and I mailed it. And then I mailed him a letter every day for the last two weeks, and he never responded. He never responded!”

Jethro opened his mouth to speak, but I interrupted him, my voice oscillating between rough and high-pitched hysteria. “So I called him and he didn’t answer. I wrote him fifteen love letters and he ignored them all and he won’t even answer the phone when I call!”

Several of my friends tsked, throwing me compassionate and sympathetic gazes. Janie wrapped her arms around me from behind.

“What a bastard,” Sandra breathed. “He really is Dr. Ruinous. We hates him.”

Jethro held up his hands as though trying to calm a riot before it became violent. “Now, wait. You don’t know the whole story. Stop jumping to conclusions.”

“What excuse could he possibly have?” Marie asked. “Is he injured? Is he trapped under a heavy object? Has he fallen without the ability to get up?”

Then Beau shocked the bejeebus out of me by saying, “No. He’s on the Appalachian Trail and doesn’t have cell reception.”

I stared at Beau, I stared at the words he’d just said, my mind going quiet then loud then quiet again.

When I spoke, it was barely above a whisper. “What did you say?”

“I said he’s been on the Appalachian Trail for the last six weeks. Jethro came back weeks ago, but Drew hasn’t been home in six weeks. I imagine his mail is collecting in a pile just inside his door. That’s where your letters are. Also, he’s got no cell reception.” Beau announced this casually while scooping his finger into the cookie dough, digging out a large chunk, and eating it.

Then, glancing at me and my friends’ stunned faces like we were aliens, he reached forward and picked up my wine. “And he gets back tomorrow. So, don’t worry. He’ll get your letters then. Mind if I drink this?”

CHAPTER 28

Bran thought about it. “Can a man still be brave if he’s afraid?”

“That is the only time a man can be brave,” his father told him.

― George R.R. Martin, A Game of Thrones

I was struck with an intense feeling of déjà vu.

I was sitting on Quinn’s plane. We were all loaded up—the knitting gals and I, plus my brothers, plus Quinn—on our way to a distant place, banding together to help each other, off on another adventure.

We’d done this before.

But this time it was quite different, because this time, everyone on board was trying to help me.

After Jethro and Beau had dropped their information weapons of mass destruction all over my life, my knitting group and I held a quick conference. It went something like this:

Fiona: “How are you feeling about Drew reading your letters when he gets home tomorrow?”

Me: “Not good. Not good at all. I want them back.”

Marie: “Why?”

Me: “He didn’t send me the notebook.”

Sandra: “Do you think his feelings for you have changed?”

Me: “He obviously never wanted me to see it. Heck, he wanted to get rid of it so badly he tried to destroy it. I honestly don’t know what his feelings are, but I wrote those letters thinking that he’d sent me that book. I want the letters back.”

Fiona to Sandra: “Not that you asked, but I agree with Ashley. She wrote the letters under false assumptions. If she wants the letters back, I think we should do everything in our power to get them back.”

Elizabeth: “What’s the plan?”

Janie: “I’ll call Quinn; we’ll use the plane. We can probably fly out sometime today.”

Me: “Don’t do that. I can drive through the night.”

Janie: “No. Unacceptable.”

Fiona: “I agree with Janie. If we have to put up with a grumpy Quinn all year, then we should be able to use his plane for emergencies.”

Elizabeth: “Agreed. Let’s move!”

Jethro and Beau had been strangely silent during the whole rigmarole. While the knitting group sprang into action, they went out and grabbed Italian beef sandwiches for everyone. We all ate lunch with vigorous appetites, drank three bottles of wine, and planned our strategy in the comfort of Command Central (aka my kitchen).

And so it was that I found myself buckled up and preparing to land in Knoxville, Tennessee. My heart was in my throat, and I couldn’t keep my hands still enough to knit on the plane. They kept shaking. Therefore, I gave up and balled them into fists in my lap for the remainder of the flight.

Our plan was straightforward. Jethro would drive me up the mountain. I would retrieve the key from its hiding place on the back porch. I would then go inside, retrieve my letters, and leave. Jethro would drive me home. Then we would all do shots of moonshine eggnog to celebrate.

Well, me and my friends would do shots. Looking at Quinn, Jethro, and Beau’s faces, I doubted they would be celebrating with us.

Quinn had secured a takeoff time out of Knoxville for just after midnight. Therefore, all the ladies—plus Quinn—would be able to make it back to Chicago by 2:30 a.m.

Before we left, Fiona insisted that I take a shower and wash my hair. Then she supervised me getting dressed and putting on makeup—just like Billy had done all those months ago. The similarities between the two of them warmed my heart.

This time, however, I wouldn’t be facing a bear. I would be stealing in and out of Drew’s house undetected then celebrating Christmas with my family like the past three weeks never happened.

“Betty arranged for a car to meet us at the airport,” Quinn said, referring to his secretary as the plane taxied from the runway. He was sitting next to Janie across from me.

I found his blue icicle eyes somewhat disconcerting, so I simply nodded and spoke to his chin. “Thank you. Thank you for your help.”

I imagined he thought I was pretty ridiculous. Janie had explained the situation to him during the trip to Knoxville in the way that only Janie was capable of doing—like a police report, just the facts.

Quinn runs his own global security firm, and is perpetually taciturn. I often wonder what he thinks of his wife’s crazy friends.

He probably thinks we’re crazy.

“Don’t mention it.” His gentle tone surprised me.

I glanced up and found him watching me with a piercing, narrowed glare. This was his baseline disquieting stare—in other words, the norm for Quinn.

He further caught me off guard when he leaned forward, his elbows on his knees, a frown on his face, and said, “I know I just provide the mode of travel for these trips, and this is none of my business, but I think you should give Drew and yourself a little more credit.”