Page 14 of Love Letters to Christmas

I cannot be expected to improve my mental health under these conditions.

Amelia

As it turns out, it’s quite near impossible to work on myself when I live in the same house as the object of my greatest distractions. That said, it is assuredly impossible when I am sleeping in the very same room as him.

Staring at the ceiling and trying not to annoyingly rustle my sheets overmuch due to anything silly like breathing , I police my rampant thoughts. They refuse to tame.

Three feet to my left, Brian is sleeping.

Twenty-three minutes ago, he showered in the same bathroom I used before him.

When he emerged, I learned that he sleeps in his boxers , only his boxers, which are covered in little red hearts and little white letters. As the thick scent of sandalwood robbed my air, the sight of topless Brian cemented itself in my brain for all time.

Topless Brian.

In mail-themed boxers.

With damp hair.

Yawning.

Labored breath manages to whistle into the cavities of my chest without disrupting the sheets, and I squeeze my eyes shut only to find myself bombarded yet again with the fresh, clean scent of him .

This is impossible.

Who cares about character growth anyway?

I’m less than a half hour away from where my parents live right now. Would I rather come to terms with that or be a creepy, lovesick disaster?

Cutting my eyes toward the dark outline of the love of my life, I think it’s more than clear what my preferences are.

Lovesick disaster all the way.

“A-mail-ia?”

My heart slams into my ribs, and I squeak.

Brian’s outline shifts, and his lamp light blisters my eyes a moment later. Hopelessly handsome pushed up on one elbow and looking at me, Brian says, “Sorry. I didn’t mean to scare you.”

Squinting through the pain at beautiful man chest, I whisper, “No…it’s fine… Is everything okay?”

It’s two. The clock says two. We wrote letters together, then we got ready for bed, and now it’s late . I should be sleeping, not scalding my retinas in an effort to drink in a man’s body.

What is wrong with me?

Brian settles, pillowing his bent arm beneath his head. “Everything’s fine. I’m just having trouble sleeping. You too, huh?”

Ahahaha. “Yeah. A little bit.” I dare to roll toward him as my eyes adjust better to having the light back on. He’s…so… everything .

“Unfamiliar beds.” He chuckles. “Almost makes me wish we were sharing, because then at least we’d have something familiar in reach.” Brilliant green eyes find me as my entire body blossoms crimson.

My Brian isn’t suggesting… He didn’t just… He wouldn’t …

“I’ve always admired your handiwork with wax,” he says as though I am not struggling to maintain some basic level of function.

Choked, I stammer, “O-oh? Th-thank you.”

“I apologize that my meager kit didn’t have more for you to play with.”

I apologize that I keep staring at your bare shoulder. “That’s all right. I’m glad I was able to seal my letter at all. I love that you keep a wax kit on you.”

His smile softens. “Never know when you might need to seal a formal invitation.” He laughs again, shifts his position so he’s on his back, and stares at the ceiling. “It’s important to always be prepared for any eventuality…even falling in love.”

Falling in…

It becomes very difficult to swallow as I grip my blankets tight against my panicking chest.

Right.

Yes.

His kit did have a selection of blue wax beads, didn’t it? It’s very good to always be prepared for stuff like… that .

Tormented, I murmur, “I suppose so.”

“I have lunch scheduled with my parents tomorrow, at Sweet & Salty.”

Right. Yes. I know this. He mentioned it while we were getting ready for this trip.

I was planning to be annoying and call Ceres the day after her wedding to see if she wanted to leave her house twice in a row and spend time with me instead of her new husband.

But. More likely. I was going to stay here and play free games on my phone.

“Why don’t you come with me?” he asks.

My brain turns off, shutting down ninety-three percent of all necessary operations for survival. “You…want me to interrupt lunch with you and your parents?”

“You’re not an interruption.”

“You haven’t seen them for months. I’m sure they’d love to spend quality time alone with you.”

“They love people. They’d love to meet you.”

I’m being invited to meet Brian’s parents. Brian’s parents . The people who might become my parents someday, assuming I can fix my stupid self up enough to enter into a healthy relationship with their son. Against plentiful better judgment, I say, “S-sure. Sounds…fun.”

Brian sends me a smile that crinkles the corners of his eyes, then he reaches for the lamp. “Great! Night.”

And the room returns to darkness.

I have no expectations. None. Zero. Nada. I have in no way mentally prepared for what I am experiencing here. Which is, of course, Brian’s mother standing beside me while Brian and his father hug in front of a register manned by the sun god Apollo.

“It’s so…” Brian’s mother squints ahead at the scene, lashes fluttery. “…bright.”

Appearing quite similarly blinded, I echo the sentiment.

“I’d heard someone where I used to work mention that an angel who could control light transferred in from the Sweet & Salty location near where Brian works in Iferous…

but I haven’t been here for a while.” Not since Brian first paved the way for a Sweet & Salty to spring up in Bandera.

While they were still hiring, I visited, applied, and had to bite back my disappointment when I didn’t get the job.

“I think his name is…Sol?” Brian’s mother says, eyes narrowed presumably on Sol’s nametag. Shocking she can see well enough to read, honestly.

Taking a page from Ceres’s book, I say, “It’s a hazard to have so many sunshine character types in such close proximity…” They are going to start a fire.

“Scott, honey.” Brian’s mother approaches the nuclear explosion, and the sheer light rays of her own blond hair and kind smile entering the picture might very well blast me back into the glass front windows of the establishment. “Can’t I have a turn?”

“Sorry, sorry. I’m hogging him.” Scott moves back, sniffing, then Brian gleams at his mother before they embrace.

I lose several layers of my skin to the super nova, but it’s fine, because it’s beautiful, and I…

I can’t remember the last time I hugged my parents.

That…doesn’t matter right now. Not while I’m going blind watching a sun eclipsing a sun.

Brian’s mother frames his face in her hands once she pulls back, and green eyes glitter against green. It’s such a beautiful shade, such an incredible reflection, and the brightness isn’t the only similarity these people have with the sun. They’re also putting off so. much. warmth .

There’s love here. Endearing, long-suffering, endless love.

I bury my nails in my arm just to ground myself in the presence of such a thing, to keep myself from begging to be a part of it.

“Lucia…” Scott murmurs.

Brian winces, hesitating. “Mom? What’s wrong?”

Lucia’s nails prick into his flesh, then she frees his face only to snatch his hand. The heels of her Oxfords click as she drags him into the corner farthest from us.

Scott looks at me. I straighten myself under his scrutiny.

His curious glance melts into an older Brian smile, and I see Brian’s future—full head of hair, handsome—in the way Scott tucks his fingers in his pockets and says, “So, Amelia was it? Brian mentioned you when he said he’d be bringing a guest.”

I have not yet introduced myself. “Y-yes, sir. Sorry.” I remove my nails from my arm and offer him my hand. “Amelia Christmas. Nice to meet you.”

“Amelia Christmas,” Scott murmurs, taking my hand in his. “It’s been a while since I’ve heard that name.” He snaps his fingers the second our hands part. “Wax seals.”

My heart launches into my throat.

“You made an incredible impression on Brian quite near a decade ago.”

“I…did?” I whisper.

“Once, I found him staring at a letter you’d dropped off at the post office muttering that it wouldn’t be right to keep the seal for himself.”

Brian…. the Brian, angelic and perfect Brian…wanted to steal one of my seals from when we had that pen pal assignment in school?

“Even I remember it.” He releases a breath. “You’d painted a feather so it looked like a tiny peacock’s, then you’d paired it with a glittering green and adorned the surplus wax with flecks of fake gold. Heavens, it was beautiful. Nothing short of a work of art.”

“ Dad ,” Brian states, suddenly behind me, suddenly very close.

I leap out of my skin and whirl to find Lucia’s eyes crinkled, a new sort of joy shimmering across her face as she stands a foot behind Brian, who is frowning…and blushing?

Red undoubtedly highlights his flawless bone structure.

Scott lifts both hands in defense. “I’m not doing anything. Can you blame me for wanting Miss Amelia to coax you back home?”

“Amelia can’t coax me back to Bandera. She lives with me in Iferous.”

Scott’s smile vanishes as his eyes slice between us. A wicked gleam renews as he perches his hand at his chin and leans in. “ Ohh? You don’t say? With you? As in, in the same big, huge, massive, no-one-knows-anyone else city…or…”

“ With me,” Brian clarifies.

“Congratulations on the nuptials we weren’t invited to,” Scott provides, eyes scathing where his tone remains flighty and free of all malice. “How heartbreaking that you’d give up the chance to mail wedding invitations marked with Amelia’s gift.”

Now I’m blushing, too.

And I think having a bunch of sunshines in this small cafe lobby is starting to up the temperature to a breaking point.

“Could you and Mom stop trying to make us uncomfortable? Amelia’s a friend.”

“Nonsense.” Scott sniffs. “Look at her. She’s gorgeous. You’re telling me you both share the same living space, but you’ve not put a letter in an envelope yet?”

“ Dad .” Brian crosses his arms. “Don’t be vulgar.”

“I’m just voicing what everyone’s thinking.”

Lucia nods, agreeing, so I shoot a look at Sol, the only other person here right now, just after rush hour. He smiles at me, which doesn’t confirm that he was thinking about any letters being enveloped.

“Are we going to order food or not?” Brian asks.

“Don’t think you can change the subject, young man.

You’ve never introduced us to a lady friend before, and certainly never one you’ve been living with.

” Scott’s hands return to his pockets as he lounges, looking elsewhere, half pouting.

“I’m gonna need some explanations before my appetite returns. ”

Helping nothing and no one, Lucia plants a hand at her heart. “Your poor father. Imagine learning that your son is going steady with someone like this .”

Brian’s brows dip, unamused. Drier than I knew he was capable of, he outright ignores his parents and approaches the front counter. “Hey, Sol.”

“Hi, Brian. How’s it going back home?”

Smiling, Brian plants an elbow on the counter and shrugs. “Pretty normal. Will misses you.”

Sol laughs, running his fingers through his Adonis-pretty blond locks. “So Elodie’s told me.”

“Where is your sister? I saw her at the wedding last night, but she ran off with Lyra before I could get a chance to say hi.”

A nervous chuckle escapes the Grecian ideal. “Yeah, she’s hard to get a hold of these days. It’s probably a phase.”

“Definitely a phase,” Brian reassures.

Scott juts a lip.

“Oh, honey,” Lucia soothes, rubbing his back. “It’ll be okay.”

“My favorite son hates me.”

“Your only son,” Brian corrects, before seamlessly proceeding to peruse the menu.

“Brian Franklin Single, you give your father some attention this instant,” Lucia demands.

Brian cocks a look back at his parents, then taps a finger to his chin and hums as he swings back toward the menu. “I think I want a ham and swiss croissant. With a mango refresher. What are you considering, Amelia?” He pulls his wallet out. “My treat.”

His treat? He’s paying for me? While his parents are low-key, high-key shipping us ?

Does he realize how that helps nothing? Is he doing it on purpose?

And why, oh why, isn’t he calling me A-mail-ia ? If he’s stopped because he realizes it’ll fuel his parents’ headcanon about us, then that means he recognizes that the nickname he has for me fuels romantic headcanons .

I don’t know what to do with myself.

Inner peace at an all-time low, I scoot up to the counter and try to remember how to read. I cannot. So I just say, “I’ll have the same, please.”

“You don’t like swiss,” Brian says, as though he is supposed to know that. Why would Brian know that? Why can I feel his parents’ eyes boring holes into my back while they watch us like we’re a sitcom?

Because I am deeply distracted and impossibly stupid, I just look Brian in his pretty face and whisper, “I…don’t?”

His expression softens, then he lifts his hand and sets a lock of my hair back over my ear .

At this point, I can only assume we’re pranking his parents. I’m pretty sure Ceres has mentioned this sort of thing before. It’s a trope. A book trope. The fake dating one. I could have sworn it came with contracts and also maybe consent, though.

Brian turns back to Sol. “She’ll have the strawberry smoothie and a pita sandwich, white not wheat.”

“They get along so well,” Lucia whispers.

Conspiring, Scott replies, “ Really well.”

“You got it,” Sol confirms. “Anything for…your parents?”

Brian spares his parents a look, and they hold their breaths. He says, “Nah,” then he flattens his hand against the small of my back and sweeps me away to a table in the corner. Pulling out my chair, he presents the seat with a flourish. “M’lady.”

What is going on?

“Th-thank you.” Legs trembling, I seat myself and fold my hands together in my lap.

This man…is making it impossible to keep the focus on myself. Utterly impossible. I should give up. I should just give up. It’s pointless to grow when Brian Single is around.

To make matters worse, he sits right next to me, chair inches from mine. When he sighs, I smell mint toothpaste in the air. It makes me lightheaded. “Brian?” I whisper, his name strained and low.

“Hm?” He plants his chin in his hand.

I wet my lips. “What…are you doing?”

He watches me, gaze enigmatic. “Performing an experiment.”

An experiment? “What kind of experiment?”

“I might tell you later. Might not. Who knows?” He rocks back on the legs of his chair. “I’m unpredictable at best.”

Oh. Okay. Cool… I’ll just wait on that, then.

By the time his parents sit down in the other two chairs at the table with us, Sol’s bringing out our food. Attempting to maintain something akin to composure, I reach for my smoothie straw, take a sip, and find that everyone —except Sol—is watching me. My heart stumbles around. “W-what?”

Brian’s lips curl first, then his parents’ follow.

“Nothing,” he says.

I cannot shake the feeling that it is very much something , but they fall into an amicable conversation too quickly for me to decode anything more.