The Alpha’s Pen Pal (Crescent Lake Book 1)
The Alpha’s Pen Pal: Chapter 8

HAVEN

The unfamiliar sensations of the woman’s hands massaging my feet kept eliciting uncontrollable giggles from my mouth. My body tensed with each of her ministrations.

Mom insisted we needed a girl’s day filled with every type of girly pampering one can imagine. So far, we’d gone shopping and picked out fancy outfits, had our hair cut and styled, and the last step was getting manicures and pedicures.

I picked out a glittery gold nail polish for both my fingernails and toenails. The color an almost perfect match for the gold accessories I bought to go with my dark purple dress. Mom hadn’t told me why we were going through all this effort, but I guessed she had some exciting surprise planned for us. I needed to be patient, and eventually, she would let me know what was going on.

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” from The 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.

Dear Haven,

By now, you have obviously opened your Christmas gift. I know we never discussed the holidays or talked about whether we would send gifts to each other, but honestly, I felt I needed to do this for you.

I knew you would likely say no to any sort of gift because you’re selfless like that, but I had to get you something. I had to make up for my behavior from before. I know, I know, you said you forgive me, and maybe that’s true, but I just needed to show that I really am serious about being your friend.

When I heard the music from the music boxes in the gift shop in our town, I knew immediately that was what I wanted to get you. And when I saw this music box, I realized it was the perfect choice for you.

I don’t know why or how I knew that. I can’t explain it, but something inside of me just knew that you would love this one the most.

Now, before you open the other envelope, I need to explain myself. This music box is only part of your gift. The other part… well, you’ll see when you open it.

I had help with the second part, from my parents, our teachers, and your parents, too. When I read your most recent letter and saw how much dance and ballet meant to you, I explained my idea to my mom, and she contacted my teacher, who contacted your teacher, who then contacted your parents, who finally got in touch with my parents. Complicated and sort of a circle of he said-she said but, hey. What can I say? It worked.

One last thing, before you open the other envelope. You have to promise me you won’t be mad at me, or try to return the gift or pay me back because you think it is too much money to be spent on you. I may not have ever met you in person, but I feel like I already know how you will react to a gift like this, and I want you to just forget about it, all right? The only thing I ask in return is that you continue to be my friend. Because you are worth it. Our friendship is worth it.

All right. With that being said, you are now allowed to open the other envelope. I hope you enjoy your gift.

Merry Christmas, Haven.

Your friend,

Wes

I set the letter aside. My heart raced in anticipation of what I would find in the other envelope.

He said it was the other part of my Christmas gift, but I couldn’t imagine what it might be, what he could have given me that would fit inside an envelope. The only thing I could think of was money, and I just couldn’t imagine that was what he sent.

Again, I peeled open the envelope, making sure to not rip the paper. Inside were three tickets. Three tickets to a professional production of The Nutcracker, right here in Denver, for tonight.

The tickets fell to the table as my trembling hands came up to cover my gaping mouth. I looked at my parents, my eyes wide. I wanted to say something to them, but there were no words I could use to express myself.

It couldn’t be real. There was no way this was actually happening. I pinched my leg as hard as I could, and it hurt, so I wasn’t dreaming. Still, I couldn’t imagine my mom would ever let his family spend that much money on a Christmas gift for me. Not when we didn’t actually know each other, when we’d only ever written letters to each other, and only for a few months at that.

“This is too much,” I whispered, my voice breaking with raw emotion. “I cannot possibly accept this from Wesley and his family. We barely…”

My mom was by my side in an instant. Her arms enveloped me in a hug as she wiped tears from my face that I didn’t even realize were falling.

“Shh… sweetie, there’s no reason to cry. I spoke with his mother for a long time on the phone, and she told me how Wesley has become a completely different young man since the two of you started writing. How he is happier, kinder, and more mature in everything he does. They are so thankful—Wesley and his parents—that you gave him a chance to be your friend. And some people show their affection and appreciation by giving gifts.”

I nodded, even though I didn’t quite understand what she meant, and wrapped my arms around her as she hugged me.

“Thank you, Mom,” I said in her ear as we held onto each other.

Dad came up beside us, and he wrapped both of us up in a hug as well. We stayed like that, embracing each other for a long moment. Then Mom pulled back, her eyes sparkling.

“Now, go wash your face and put on your new dress, so we can all enjoy this lovely gift from your friend and his family.”

I smiled widely at her and leaned forward for one more quick hug before I sprinted up the stairs to get ready, the music box clasped in my hands.

I set it down on my desk when I reached my bedroom. My eye caught on the picture of Wesley I pinned onto my new bulletin board Dad mounted on my wall.

His family said I had changed him since we met, but the truth was, he had changed me. He helped me be more open to receiving love, and without him in my life, I would still be the same closed-off and wary child I had always been. I took a deep breath, and I smiled at his photo. S~ᴇaʀᴄh the Find_Nøvel.ɴet website on Gøøglᴇ to access chapters of novels early and in the highest quality.

“Thank you, Wesley. For everything.”

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