“SORRY!” I STUMBLED out of the way of an athletic blonde in a pencil skirt and Nikes power walking her merry way along Fifth Avenue. Business professionals and customers shuffled past me, I nearly collapsed onto the sidewalk, barely managing to dodge the intense foot traffic before my face made an imprint onto the cement.
Nobody acknowledged my apology, nobody really even acknowledged me. Then again, it was New York. I could be breathing my last breath, and the chances of someone actually stepping in were one in a million. Pretty sure I saw that in one of my Freshman Psych classes. It wasn’t that New Yorkers were mean or rude like people assumed. They were just busy.
And busy meant they didn’t have time to stop on the sidewalk and help an eighteen-year-old girl to her feet because she looked like she was about to get smothered against the nearest window.
I took another deep breath. This was stupid.
I was stupid. It was a bank. How many times had I walked by this exact building and thought nothing of it?
My stomach clenched. Today was different.
I felt like one of the girls I’d read about in my romance novels, the ones who had adventurous lives, were pursued by drop-dead sexy men in full body armor. Hah, yeah that was so not my reality.
I tugged my coat tighter around my uniform just as my phone buzzed in my purse.
Probably one of my uncles checking up on me to make sure I was on my way to the store.
Now or never.
The letter had been burning a hole in my pocket for weeks, and I wasn’t the type of person to ignore things, especially weird things, things that actually made my life seem less normal, less boring. For the last eighteen years I’d gone to school, tried my hardest to get good grades, and worked at my family’s flower shop.
Oh, and I read.
I had no specific talents, unless you could actually count reading, which, is apparently frowned upon when you’re applying for college. I could still hear my Uncle Gio’s laughter. “Reading is a hobby, Val, not a talent.”
My phone kept buzzing.
I clenched my teeth, then pulled it out of my purse and answered it. “Yes?”
“Val?” Uncle Gio’s thick accent wrapped around me like a warm hug. “Are you sick?”
“No.” I glanced helplessly at the glass windows of the skyscraper. “I’m on my way.”
“You will be late.” He stated it like a fact, didn’t ask.
“Maybe.” I said distractedly. “Traffic is… bad.”
“But you walk.”
“I have to cross streets, Gio.”
He was quiet and then. “Did you eat?”
“Gio!” I groaned, already feeling my cheeks burn with embarrassment, when would I ever be an adult to them? “I ate, all right?”
More silence and then. “I don’t believe you. I brought extra cannoli, just in case.”
If I ate any more cannoli someone was going to have to start running to work instead of walking. “Fine, I just — I need to go, it’s hard to hear you.”
“Where are you?”
“Close!” I lied. “See you soon, Gio!”
“Love you, little Val.”
I held my groan in. I would always be little Val.
Always.
I straightened my shoulders and shoved my phone back into my purse. Little Val would back away; little Val would have burned the letter I was currently carrying.
Little Val would probably have told her overprotective uncles and brother.
But I didn’t want to be little anymore. I was a woman.
I reached for the door handle just as another body bumped into me propelling me through the doors with an umph.
The crisp smell of papers and too much floor cleaner burned my nostrils as I turned a few circles. Where the heck was I supposed to even go?
I stepped out of the way and pulled out the letter.
Bank of America Safety Deposit Box 36
There was no return address, and it wasn’t even in typical handwriting, but typed out. Maybe I should have said something to my uncles.
But, and here’s the creepy part, the part that led me to the bank the minute they opened. The part that had me lying to my uncle for the first time, since… forever.
At the very bottom of the page was a quote from Shakespeare.
The course of true love, never did run smooth.
It was one of my favorite quotes. When I was five, I’d stolen one of the old books from Gio’s library and snuck chapters when I could. Again, I was an odd child, so if you knew me, you’d know it wasn’t particularly strange for me to devour words like they were bread and butter.
I’d been obsessed with A Midsummer Night’s Dream ever since then, and that very book was still placed under my bed at night.
I had it memorized.
Geez, I was lame.
“Miss?” A drop-dead sexy guy approached me. His black suit barely moved as he walked, like it was glued to every muscle in his body. The black tie atop the black shirt screamed “danger!” The high end sunglasses hanging out of his front pocket said casual but not careless. My mouth must have dropped open, because a small smile curved around his lips as he ducked his head.
“Are you…” I turned around. “Oh, I’m sorry were you talking to me?”