Page 28 of Love Letters to Christmas

I’m not sure how well this plan was thought through.

Brian

I think, probably, there should be two first prize winners.

Honestly, what was I thinking hosting a gingerbread mansion decorating contest when Frank works here?

Obviously, she wins. Lunch break’s barely started this fine Monday afternoon, and yet she’s built nothing short of a gingerbread castle out of the ingredients I’ve supplied.

Seriously.

I didn’t even see her do it.

It’s like I’m distracted or something…

My attention glides toward Amelia’s creation—a stack of letters with frosting seals—and I sigh into a smile as her tongue peeks out while she works on icing another letter for the collection.

“Frank?” I pose.

Frank cocks her head as she assembles wings. “Yeah?”

“Is that a dragon?”

“Maybe.”

Yeah, Frank wins. This is actually not fair to anyone else.

Frank wins, because skillz. And Amelia wins, because mail.

This is probably why I have a co-judge, to keep me true. Turning to Ruby, I say, “What do you think, judge buddy?”

Arms folded, Ruby grips her white cane and mutters, “I think I’m only here because you conned my brother into making the gingerbread for you, and I want some.

Also—” She points toward her whistling husband, who is making a…

mess. He’s making a mess. I don’t know that whatever is on the table in front of him can be considered anything but a mess. “—he wins.”

I wince. “I can assure you, he does not.”

Ruby sniffs. “Does.”

Alrighty, then. That’s three people tied for first, one skillz, two nepotism.

This was, obviously, a great idea!

Running my fingers through my hair, I lose my co-judge to her husband and think, maybe, I should reevaluate my life choices. Casting that silly thought aside, I find my way to my future wife, whom I caught trying to wipe down a counter this morning.

Poor thing.

I’m sure she’ll learn soon.

But if she refuses, I am not above getting a gun safe to house all our cleaning supplies.

“That is adorable,” I say.

Single glitter sprinkle by single glitter sprinkle, Amelia decorates the edges of one of her gingerbread letters. “Th-thank you.” She smiles. “I do think you’re biased, though.”

Oh, undeniably. “Me? Biased? Just because you’re my favorite person here?” I place a hand to my heart. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Wide brown eyes pull up off her cute letter pile. Cheeks deepening with pink, Amelia gulps. “I did mean because…it’s mail.”

Yes, I do realize that. But far be it from me to pass up a perfect opportunity to remind you that you’re precious. “Oh,” I note, basically oblivious. “I do suppose that plays a part. However small.”

Her lashes flutter, as though she does not believe me, but she goes back to adding the last of her glitter sprinkles without a word. Once finished, she pushes one of those strands of hair she always keeps out of her bun back and smiles down at her work.

I stare.

At her.

Because she had frosting on her hand, and now it’s on her cheek. The little heart-shaped and red-sprinkled smear sits seductively upon her rosy flesh, taunting. Were we alone, instead of in this conference room packed with coworkers, I do not know what I would do.

Which is why instead of mentioning the flirty little smudge, I leave it and calculate whether it might survive long enough for us both to get back in the mailroom together.

Unfortunately, while I’m picturing unseemly behavior taking place in the most passionate place on earth, Amelia realizes she has frosting on her cheek.

“Oop,” she says, cutely, and gets a napkin.

I, naturally, pout, life ruined.

Her eyes find me, and she tenses, folding the frosting heart away in her napkin. “Is everything okay?”

No, actually. I’m sad and dying. I sigh, casting a forlorn look toward Frank’s dragon castle. “I’m fearing that calling this a contest was a bad idea. There’s a clear winner, but my co-judge doesn’t agree.”

“Your…blind co-judge?”

“It’s called being inclusive .”

“It’s inclusive to put someone in a position with tasks that their disability makes impossible?”

I blink. “She’s having fun instead of sitting in her office, grumbling over whatever she eats for lunch, so yes.”

“She’s eating her husband’s…house.”

It is so kind of Amelia to call whatever I’m looking at a house .

“Yeah, I’m pretty positive he made it with all her favorites in mind.

The point was, really, this outcome. Luring her in to have a little fun every once in a while is good for her.

” I smile as Will steals some frosting off her lip. Lucky them.

Amelia and I should get married in a courthouse like they did and have our proper wedding later. Then we can be all lovey-dovey at work, too.

“How do you do it?” Amelia asks, and I find myself requiring an antecedent.

“How do I do what?”

“Think about everyone else, so much, all the time?”

I know she’s not suggesting my manipulation is some kind of commendable act. Except, I think she is. She’s truly too good to me. Plucking one of her letters off her display, I touch the corner to my lips and smile. “If you’re asking, I’m pretty sure you already do.”

Her chin dips. “No… I really don’t.”

“If you want to, what’s stopping you?”

“What if I only think I want to because I like the idea of being a good person, but really I don’t want to and all I want is the high?”

What if I’m stunting Amelia’s potential as a philosopher by keeping her stowed away in the mailroom at Whirlwind Branding? “I think you’re a good person,” I say instead of worrying about all that .

“I’m not.”

“Do you think I’m a good person?”

She nods, and her brown eyes lift. “Absolutely.”

“Well, I’m not.”

Her lips part, and if I were a better person, I think I’d feel worse about directly shattering her worldview. I don’t.

I say, “If you’re only after a high, you only worry about appearances.

Still striving for something that goes beyond surface level is what counts.

It’s easy enough to look good and present goodness to other people.

Some of the darkest monsters out there manage it long enough to do some really frightening damage.

” I take a bite of gingerbread, chew, and swallow.

“Give yourself some grace, Amelia. People don’t care if you’re good.

They care if you’re kind, and people don’t care why you’re kind, because every single person in this world has ulterior motives and selfish thoughts.

Love’s the only thing that diverges from that nature.

And, if you’d do me a favor as someone who loves you, stop being so hard on yourself. ”

“Someone who…” Breath leaves her, and her lips tremble as her eyes glass.

A harsh word slides casually through my brain, so I loop my arm around her back and pull her from everyone working on their sculptures just in case they look up.

Stopping in a quiet corner of the hall outside the conference room, I run a knuckle beneath her eyes and continue munching on what is probably the best gingerbread I’ve ever had.

“You think I’d let just anyone live in my spare room, Mail-ia?” I ask, gently.

“Y-yes?”

I chuckle. “You really do have rose-colored glasses for me, don’t you?” I pull the hem of my vest up to dry a tear that falls. “You’re allowed to be kind to yourself, too. If you can’t do it for you because you think it’s selfish, do it for me because I don’t like to see you hurting. Okay?”

Her fingers splay beside her skirt, flat against the wall that I am—quite apparently—pinning her to. Fragile, she whispers, “That’s…an interesting way to put things.”

“Is it really? Seems fairly normal for a friend to not want another friend to beat themselves up all the time.” Did I just say friend twice?

Oops. She’s gonna be up all night thinking about that one.

Which means she’ll be up all night thinking about me.

I let it slide. “It doesn’t make you any better of a person to think how horrible of a person you are, and it even hurts the people who care about you.

If you’re determined to believe you’re selfish, be selfish.

Because, really, before this week, I let you spoil me rotten, and you still think I’m some kind of good person, which must mean you’ve either got a messed up idea of how things work, or double standards.

Face it, Mail-ia. All I’ve done is flip the script.

If I wasn’t selfish during the months you spoiled me, you aren’t selfish now. ”

She flinches, and her pupils dart between my eyes.

“Well?” I prompt after a minute.

“I think I have double standards,” she says.

Chuckling, I finish her gingerbread letter and give her a little more space in the corner. “Awareness is the first step to leveling them out, don’t you think?”

Silent, she nods.

“You okay?”

Air fills her chest as she laces her fingers in front of her skirt. Hopeful, she says, “I will be.”

I hum. “That’s all I can ask for. Come now, my precious girl. I think I need another cookie.”