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I just hoped it wasn’t the landlord, coming to tell me that he’d changed his mind and two months of prepaid rent wasn’t enough.
“Why don’t you go to your room while I see who it is?”
“Okay, Mommy.”
In case it was the landlord, I didn’t want Avery to hear us. I hadn’t told her that we might have to move. We’d painted the walls in her room by ourselves, bought the furniture together. It was the first real home we’d both had. I wouldn’t lose it.
I gave myself a mental pep talk, trying to decide on the best course of action in the seconds it took me to reach the door.
It wasn’t my landlord. It was a delivery guy h
olding an envelope.
“Ms. Heather Prescott?”
“Yes.”
“I have a delivery for you.”
“What is it?”
He cocked a brow. “I don’t know. I’m just delivering. Sign here, please.”
I signed the sheet of paper he held in front of me.
After he left, I closed the door, leaning against it and inspecting the envelope. It didn’t say who the sender was. Everything I’d received from my landlord before had had his contact information scribbled on it.
Come on, Heather. You’re not a chicken. Just open it.
I opened the envelope and found two smaller ones inside. They were golden, and I could swear they smelled like lavender. One had my name on it, one Avery’s. What on earth? I opened the one addressed to me.
Dear Ms. Heather Prescott,
You are hereby cordially invited to the first spring ball. We are celebrating in style on Friday at the March Ballroom Gala. The party starts at 6:00 pm. We hope you will join us and look forward to your RSVP.
Yours,
The Winchester & Caldwell Families
I reread the invitation about five times before it sank in. Below was an RSVP card with the date of the event on it. Oh, Ryker. I couldn’t believe he’d actually done this. I didn’t even know they sent out printed invitations. I held it closer to my nose, sniffing. It smelled like lavender. He probably knew my address from the fund’s HR. I’d had to tell them my information.
“Mommy, can I come out?” Avery called.
“Yes, yes, of course.”
“Who was it?”
“The postman. He brought us something. Here, this is for you.”
She snatched the golden envelope I handed her. Her little mouth formed an adorable O when she read her name. I never saw her handle anything with more care than this envelope. She opened it slowly, retrieving the invitation even slower.
“It says here Miss Avery Prescott. I am a miss? Wow.”
I went behind her, reading over her shoulder.
Dear Miss Avery Prescott...
Oh, Ryker. He certainly knew how to play his cards. Our names were handwritten. Had he done this himself?
