The Misdelivered Secret Between Arthur and the Girl Next Door

form for me to look at.

Sometimes she just sat on my porch and told me about a comment that made her cry, or a customer who hugged her too long, or how tired she was of pretending young people had everything figured out.

One evening, she arrived with a small box.

My name on it.

Arthur Whitaker
214A Hawthorne Lane

“For you,” she said.

“I didn’t order anything.continue reading …