Page 2 of Love Letters to Christmas

Love-letter blue.

Amelia

Blue.

Blue, like the sky on a summer day.

Blue, like the ocean at a distance.

Blue, like the wax seal on a love letter…

“I hope you don’t mind,” Brian says as he sets down a box of my meager belongings and turns to face me where I stand, starstruck, beneath the doorjamb of my new bedroom.

“I took the liberty of freshening up your room a bit. If there’s anything you don’t like, we can change it.

” Smiling warmly, he sets his hands on his hips and takes in the elegant queen-size bed garbed in blue and white lace, the matching dresser and desk set with ornate silver handles, the lovely fluttering envelope wall stickers scattered around the room, as though a fresh breeze has taken it upon itself to deliver them personally.

“It was a little too bland and white before I knew you were coming.”

My heart trips. “You…painted it for me?”

Brian’s green eyes hit me, and my body tenses to keep from collapsing. I am not yet used to the full force of his attention. After so many years apart, I’ve lost all my immunity.

Adorably, his head tilts. “I painted it, got new furniture, and put up the stickers myself. I couldn’t have you living in a bland bedroom, devoid of color and joy. Why, it would be inhumane!” His nostrils flare as he crosses his arms, shakes his head, tuts. “What a silly thing to suggest.”

He…painted this bedroom. For me.

He painted my bedroom love-letter blue just for me .

“If it’s not your color, no worries,” he says. “We can fix it. Painting is a remarkably enjoyable task.”

“No,” I say, perhaps too swiftly. Swallowing my eager enthusiasm, I present a practiced smile and trained calm. “No, it’s perfect. I love it.”

Softness ripples in Brian’s eyes as he meets me at the door to take the box I’m holding from my grasp.

“I thought you might.” Spinning on his heel before I’m emotionally ready to forego the closeness, he sets my box atop the other one.

“Once we get your things in, I’ll show you around and we can go over house rules. ”

Right. Yes, of course. House rules. I’ll write them down, study them faithfully, and commit them to memory.

The last thing I want to do is be a burden on my childhood crush.

He’s already doing so much just by letting me stay here, not to mention the job he’s lined up for me, too.

I can hardly believe that anyone possesses such explicit kindness.

As it stands, we haven’t spoken for years and we were never even friends . We went to the same school, but we’ve had precious few conversations, most of which I stammered and stumbled my way through. It’s a wonder that he remembers me when every girl I knew growing up was also in love with him.

Despite the options, he picked none of them.

Because never once was anyone more important to him than mail.

And, last I checked, I’m not mail.

“—A-mail-ia?” Brian’s voice calls me from my move-in daze, and I squeak, facing him, as I heavily set the last hanging bag of clothes on my new bed.

Frantic, I search his face for a clue as to what we’re talking about. Not even his eyebrows deliver a hint.

Humor softens his lips into a smile. “I asked if this was everything, A-mail-ia.”

“Oh. Yes. It is.” I glance at the mess now strewn about my new room: a few spare boxes, a couple hanging bags of clothes. This is everything I own. Everything my parents would let me keep when I left.

I must look pitiful.

But at least Brian isn’t the type to pity me.

Clapping his hands, he grins. “Great! Tour time.” He exits my room, getting a step beyond the door before declaring, “Across the hall you’ll find your bathroom. To your left, at the end of the hall, you’ll find the master bedroom.”

My heart thuds . Our bedrooms are right next to each other ?

It suddenly becomes impossible to swallow.

“Moving on—” He strides forward, practically falling into each of his steps. “—you’ll see a perfectly modest living room, decked out with the best films money can buy.”

A widescreen TV sits within an oak entertainment center, only two DVDs— You’ve Got Mail and Klaus —on display near it. My eyes linger on them, my favorite movies, my favorite movies which we seem to share .

Oblivious of my racing heart, Brian sweeps his arm across from the living room of the open floor plan to present the kitchen and dining space.

“Our full-service kitchen boasts twenty-four hour access and immediate, on-demand ordering…within five business days.” Approaching the fridge, Brian pokes a letter-themed notepad stuck to the door.

“Write anything that you need or anything that we run out of on here, and I’ll pick it up next time I’m at the store. ”

My heart beats in my throat as I nod.

Bringing his hands back together in a loud clap that makes me jump involuntarily, Brian states, “Thus concludes our tour, unless you want to see the third guest room acting as my decoration storage facility.”

I would kill to see more of Brian’s home.

It is already more perfect than anything I could have ever imagined.

He keeps it so tidy. It’s nothing like I would have expected a bachelor pad to be, but that’s the Brian difference for you.

He’s a step above all others. “Th-that’s okay,” I say. “I don’t need to pry.”

I want to.

I don’t need to.

“It’s not prying.” One of his brows takes on a dramatic arch. “This is your home now. I want you to feel comfortable going anywhere in it. I’m an open book, so feel free to poke around and familiarize yourself with anything.”

Poke…around? Anywhere? Even…

I force myself not to glance down the hall with our bedrooms, toward his bedroom.

I force myself to swallow my rampant heartbeat and reply, “That’s very kind.

I… I really appreciate this, Brian. I can’t express how much you’re helping me.

” Get on my feet. Get away from a less-than-great living situation.

Get myself together. At the ripe old age of twenty-five, I’m finally getting the chance to grow up, and cut the umbilical cord, and discover myself.

Without the looming threat of my parents’ disappointment, negativity, or expectations.

Brian isn’t just giving me a place to live and a job while I figure out what it means to be physically independent. He’s giving me freedom to decide who I am and what I want. He is letting me figure out what it means to be Amelia Christmas.

And he’s waving a hand, as though it’s no big deal at all. “Don’t mention it, A-mail-ia. I’m happy to have you. Here and at the mailroom. I’ve missed having you around. You always were a bright spot in my life. It’s a delight to welcome you back into it.”

I could die happy right now. Assuming I’m not already dying. As far as I know, I got in an accident on my way here and this is all a drug-induced hallucination.

Brian just told me that he likes having me around. Wow. Wow . Is this what happiness feels like? I’m… I’m not sure. But probably.

The next thing I know, Brian’s hand waves in front of my face. “A-mail-ia?”

I snap out of my daydream, which may or may not have contained wedding bells and dresses made of letters with blue wax seals. “Yes! Sorry. I’m fine. W-what were you saying?”

Brian tucks his hands in his khaki pants pockets. “Do you have any questions for me or is there anything else I can do to help you settle in?”

Anything else he can do?

He has already done far more than enough. Far more than anyone has ever done for me.

I flush. “U-um, well…just…what’s rent and when’s it due?”

His brows rise.

“And is there a chore list for me? So I can make sure I’m pulling my weight?”

Brian blinks.

I bite my lip, hoping I haven’t said something stupid.

Did he already send me information about rent and chores?

I check my email religiously, even spam, but maybe he sent it while I was on the road?

“Sorry,” I whisper, fumbling to get my phone out of my purse, which I apparently still have slung across my body.

“Did you already email me about this stuff? Maybe I missed it. It’s been…

a…” Emotion, sudden and unbidden, chokes me, forcing me to croak the words, “…a really rough day.”

Arms envelope me before I know what’s happening. A broad chest garbed in a cardigan presses to my cheek. Breath leaves me only to return with the full, fresh scent of ink and sandalwood. Strength abandons my limbs, and quiet tears escape down my cheeks.

“It’s going to be okay,” Brian says, voice soothing, deep, warm. “There’s no rent, and all I ask is that you clean up after yourself. For the foreseeable future, this is your home. You don’t need to worry about anything else.”

Home is right here…in his arms?

My eyelids fall closed.

“Treat it like home,” he says. “That’s the only rule. Okay?”

Throat constricted, I whisper, “Okay,” and he squeezes me tight enough to keep my breaking pieces from falling apart.