Superfan (Brooklyn #3)(36)

“Nobody cares, though,” I point out. “The people who read those stories aren’t looking for justice. They just want something lurid to enjoy with their morning coffee.”

“I know, Delilah. Jeez.” She opens the folder on her lap. “But I can’t do this work every day without imagining that the good people can come out on top.”

“There’s a sex joke in there somewhere.”

“Yes! At least you’re making sex jokes. That’s progress.”

“What’s the other bad thing?”

“You got another cocktail napkin in the mail.”

My gut twists. “From where?”

“The Polo Lounge.”

I stare at her. “Who did we tell that we had a drink there? It wasn’t even planned.”

She shrugs. “Could have been that somebody Instagrammed it, and we didn’t notice.”

“Ugh. Was the note creepy?”

“They’re all creepy, Dee.”

I suppose that’s true.

“The guys are going to send the envelope and the napkin out for fingerprinting. He’ll screw up eventually. Are you ready for today’s Sparkle?”

“At this hour? What if we’re back to gloom and doom by evening?”

“Then I’ll find another one. But I can’t wait to show you this. It’s a letter from Silas Kelly.”

“What? Why?”

She clutches a folded piece of paper to her chest and sighs. “When I called to break your date with him, he said he needed to give me a letter to you. Said it was really important. And since he could tell that I thought it sounded creepy, he told me I should read it and decide for myself if I should give it to you.”

“Oh,” I say slowly.

“So while you were at that meeting with buttface, I met Silas at Starbucks. And he gave me this.” She tosses the page into my lap.

Delilah—

I don’t know if you’ll remember me. But three years ago I was the bartender at Roadie Joe’s in Darlington Beach, and you were the highlight of my day. I was going through a really rough time, thinking I had to start from scratch on my Plan B.

It would have been a terrible summer, except you came in every day for a beer—a cold one in a bottle, unopened—and just talking to you made the whole day right.

You might remember that we were supposed to go surfing. I deeply regret that I did not show up that day. I was in a mad dash to the airport with all my belongings. Now there’s a story I’d like to tell you in person. I sent a friend to the beach to find you and tell you why I didn’t show.

He was two hours late, though. Because obviously an employee of the restaurant I’d just walked out on wasn’t the right person to ask this favor. That’s on me. I’m sorry for that screwup and for leaving you standing there.

(Although, I feel obligated to point out that if only you’d given me your phone number the 73 times I asked, this could have been avoided.)

Lucky for me, I haven’t needed your number to see that your Plan A is kicking serious ass. Even though I don’t see you between the lunch rush and happy hour anymore, I am still paying attention. My wish came true—I heard Sparkle On playing on many different radios. You don’t know how happy that makes me. (Spoiler: really happy.)

Every time I hear your songs, I smile. And while I’m still wishing I had your phone number, I just want you to know how proud I am of you. You deserve every good thing that comes your way.

And I hope you’re still wearing that T-shirt—the one that says Kind of a Big Deal. Now it’s not ironic anymore.

Love always,

That Guy Behind The Bar With the Ralph Name Tag

AKA Silas Kelly





Becky is dabbing at her eyes when I look up. And—fuck—I’m dabbing at mine, too. “That boy is seriously good at letter-writing,” I sniff.

“See?” Becky squeaks. “There are good men in the world, Dee. The rescuers of kittens are out there.”

I laugh and wipe my eyes again.

“When are we seeing him again? I think we need to get that on the schedule.”

“It’s hard,” I hedge. “We live on opposite coasts. He has a job with hours that are even crazier than mine.” I peeked at the Bruisers schedule on the way to the airport. Silas wasn’t exaggerating when he said his schedule was inflexible during the season.

“But you want to see him again,” Becky presses.

“Of course I do.”

“I can’t believe he spent the night in your room!” she whispers. “His letter is just about the most romantic thing I ever read. But it didn’t sound like you guys were, um, super close.”

“Oh, I had it bad for him,” I admit. “But I was in town for just a few weeks, so it would have been only a fling.” Even as I say it, I wonder if that’s really true. “And I was trying to juggle Brett and trying to get heard. It was not an easy time.”

“There are no easy times,” Becky says. “And this guy really likes you.”

“Yeah.” I sigh. “And he likes me for me. I don’t have to wonder if he’s just interested in my strange job.”

“He has his own strange job!” Becky reminds me. She sounds gleeful. “Again, if he has any friends…”