Love, Utley (Love Letters #1)

And with each bite, I fall deeper into the rabbit hole of wondering about Hannah. Wondering what her life has been like.

What did she say about switching to online classes? Her work schedule changed?

Shifting, I reach into my pants pocket and pull out the folded sheet of paper I snagged before I left the conference room.

With one hand, I smooth it out next to my plate.

Hannah Utley

Her résumé is standard. Name, address, phone number…

I take another bite, then set my burrito down to pull my phone out of my pocket.

With no shame, I enter her information into my contacts.

I run my finger down the page to the part with her work history and find the job that lines up with the time I knew her.

Petals Flower Shop.

She worked there for years and has listed her positions ranging from customer service to manager to accountant.

Did Peter say the name of the shop like it was something he was familiar with?

I pick up my phone again and type in the address listed for Petals.

It’s in an older part of St. Paul, not that far from me and not that far from the office.

I type in Hannah’s home address, adding it to the pins on the map, then hit the button to get directions and find myself staring at the travel time.

Twenty minutes.

I moved back to town seven years ago, and during that time, Hannah was either at home, at the flower shop, or working her way up the ranks at the company I now own. Meaning, for seven fucking years, she’s been only twenty fucking minutes away. And I had no idea.

An ugly emotion twists around my heart.

What happened?

Why did she leave school, leave me, to come back to work at Petals? A place that— according to the dates on her résumé, she’d been working at since she was fifteen.

I click on the company’s website, but it takes me to a disabled page. Going back to the map, I expand the information for Petals and see that it’s closed.

It doesn’t matter.

Back to the résumé, I stare at her schooling.

There’s no mention of HOP U. No record at all of her time there. Like it didn’t happen. Wasn’t even real.

I shake my head at that thought.

It’s her.

I know it’s fucking her.

Same eyes. Same hair and freckles. Same vibrant spark of life.

I swallow, admitting to myself that she’s not the same.

None of us are the same people we were in college.