Page 33 of Love Letters to Christmas

Almost fired to almost married.

Amelia

I am terrified. For several reasons. Primarily, however, because my boss is glaring at Brian, who has just set a Christmas present down on his desk.

“And so,” Brian declares with a remarkable amount of hubris considering this conversation started with Tell me why I shouldn’t fire you and give your job to Amelia , “that is why you shouldn’t fire me, but you’re welcome to move Amelia up the corporate ladder and make us prince and princess of the mailroom. ”

My stomach twists.

“I never gave permission for a Christmas event in July, Brian,” Liam states, cold and hard.

Brian deflates. “Did you not hear my riveting recollection of how both employee and client satisfaction has improved over the course of the month? In your absence, I have fostered a kind and collaborative environment, all on a budget that neither overdrew the card you gave me nor resulted in a net loss. Will’s been running the numbers for me.

Profits have improved. Workloads have leveled.

You’ve not had any complaints.” Brian presents his fingers, counting on them.

“I followed your instructions. I listened to your we’ll reassess for Christmas .

I bring you the gift of mail!” He throws his arm out toward the giant red sack in the corner, which contains all the letters to Santa we collected—except, of course, mine . “What more do you want from me?!”

Heaving a sigh, Liam presses his fingers to his temples. “What is this?”

“This?” Brian asks.

Liam taps the gift before him, which is wrapped in blue penguin paper.

“Bribery, obviously. It’s a little something for you and Amber.” Brian’s arms cross. “Speaking of, where is your wife?”

“Home. Sleeping. Jet lag.”

“Oh, fantastic. You should open that, say thank you, Brian, you’re the best mailroom guy ever , and follow in her footsteps.”

Liam’s frown suggests that is not what he’s going to do. Nevertheless, he peels away the paper, opens the slim box inside, and stares at a pair of extra large polar bear pajamas.

Blood rushes from my head into my toes.

Brian’s going to get fired. I’ll have to run the mailroom by myself to support him. He’ll be devastated. I’ll lose my job because I’ll spend half my time petitioning for Brian’s reinstatement. We’ll be on the streets. I’ll have to sell my wax collection so we’ll fit in our cardboard box.

“Next time,” Liam grumbles, “don’t leave me out.”

My panicked thoughts screech to a halt.

Brian locks his arms behind his back and pouts. “ Next time? Who says there’ll be a next time? I am underappreciated.”

Liam discovers a smaller matching set of pajamas beneath the first. “There will be a next time. I’ve seen your site. It’s effective. But it requires a reward system to stay effective. I expect you to maintain that. Unobtrusively. So Ruby can enjoy herself, too.”

Brian drops his pout in favor of a sly smile. “Well, I do hear that Grandparents’ Day is coming up.”

Liam stares, unblinking, at Brian for far too many chilling moments, then he says, “Maybe wait for October.”

“Cute Halloween?” Brian asks.

Liam nods.

“You got it, boss.” Brian plants a hand at his chin and begins pacing in front of Liam’s desk.

“Pumpkin carving. Costumes. Haunted house. I’ll start researching, planning, and making sure the website can be set up to reflect the theme.

A trick-or-treat motivation system adapts well to the naughty-or-nice list system. It shouldn’t be too difficult.”

Liam’s eyes lift toward the ceiling, and he smooths a hand down his face before saying, “Get back to work.”

“On it! Come along, A-mail-ia.”

I jump and end up bowing to Liam before rushing after Brian as he enters the elevator. Heart still in my throat, I try to process what’s just happened. Brian didn’t have permission for Christmas in July, like, at all . Brian almost got fired. “You almost got fired,” I whisper.

“Well, what is fired , really?” He rests back against the elevator wall, perfectly calm.

I stare at him.

He cracks an eyelid at me. “What?”

“You almost got fired from your mailroom.”

“Yes, and? I didn’t?”

“But…if you had been…” I don’t even want to imagine how sad he’d be. I’d be writing hundreds of strongly-worded letters a day to Liam, demanding he reconsider, until I, too, followed in the firing.

“If I had been, you would have taken over, and I could have become your stay-at-home husband, like Norman.”

Heat explodes in my chest, flooding my face and limbs. Lamely, I murmur, “B-but you love the mailroom.”

Brian eyes me for several long moments, then he tucks his hands in his pockets and settles in. “Yep. Love it.”

I shiver as the unspoken but I love you more skates across my flesh. My chest tightens. “B-Brian?”

“Mm?”

“Is it…worse to say I’m not ready for a relationship than it is to take a chance and just be as honest as possible with you in one?” I crush my hands together and drop my attention to the flooring. “Is it cruel of me even to bring it up again?”

“You’re not cruel,” Brian notes, casually, as though it’s the irrefutable truth. “And it’s not about better or worse, A-mail-ia. It’s about what makes you happiest.”

I’ve not been raised to do anything that makes me happy.

I’ve been raised to shut up, look busy, and take up as little space as possible.

I’m not even sure I really, truly know how to be happy.

Every last bit of joy I’ve ever shown feels hollow, like an act.

As though it’s just something else I put on in the morning in order to keep the peace and do the right thing.

When I’m happy, I question it.

When something might bring me happiness, it feels wrong.

“I’m scared,” I say. “I’m so scared, of every option.

Of annoying you. Of inconveniencing you.

Of relying on you. Of not letting myself rely on you.

I don’t know how to achieve balance. I don’t know how to be grateful for what you do for me when it feels like I need to do more just to make sure I’m doing enough.

A relationship like this…is a really bad idea. ”

“Is it?”

I nod, take a breath. “But if it’s worse not to…if it doesn’t make you happier…”

“Who cares about making me happy?” Brian asks, pushing off the wall as the elevator lands at the basement floor.

“Um…I do?”

“Clearly, I make myself happy—much to the chagrin of all surrounding individuals.” He strides out when the doors open.

“Or did you miss the part where I twisted rules and abused my boss’s credit card in a loose scheme to woo you mere minutes before a love letter with your handwriting arrived and informed me that I did not really need to woo you much at all, so I kept up the guise purely to get more pretty love letters while using the woo scheme to make memories instead?

Come now, precious. I called the website Love Letters to Christmas.

Love Letters to Amelia Christmas, if we’re being precise. ”

My lips part. “Christmas in July…was a plot to…”

“To gain your affection, yes.” He enters his office while I trail awkwardly behind him.

Opening the top drawer of his desk, he removes an envelope and twists it to show me a seal boasting a sprig of mistletoe.

“This isn’t about me, A-mail-ia. I’ll just do whatever.

” He lifts the letter above his head. “This is about you. What you’re comfortable with right now.

What will let you find the most peace. That’s what love’s about, after all.

Putting someone else first in the moments when they need something more than you do.

I enjoy spending time with you. I will continue to enjoy spending time with you.

I want what’s best for you. But I’m also absolutely not going to argue if you come over here…

and kiss me.” His eyes half-lid. “That choice is yours. And whatever happens after is also yours. I’ll support you, and love you, through anything. So…what do you want?”

I…don’t know.

I want the voices in my head to sound more like his, right now. I want to be strong and confident. I want…

Brian looks down at me, inches from him, standing beneath the raised card and mistletoe. I don’t know when I moved. I don’t know much at all. His lips soften and curl. “Is this an answer, or are you just in a trance?”

“I’m not sure.” My heart won’t stop racing. “Will you…” I close my eyes, try to breathe through the unnecessary duress. “I don’t want to ruin this. I don’t want to ruin our chances.”

“You can’t.”

“I want to be good to you. I want to be better to myself. Will you help me find help, if we do this?”

“Do or don’t, of course I will.”

“Are you…sure you want me?”

He cups my chin in his free hand and catches a tear that falls on his thumb.

“Oh, Amelia…” Leaning in, he kisses the corner of my eye.

“You are lovable. And likable. And precious. Not because of anything you do, but because of who you are. I am very sure that I have never wanted anything more… I have seldom wanted anything half so much, and the last time I came close, it was when I was bemoaning not having been the person chosen to be your penpal and receive your letters in third grade.” The tip of his nose brushes mine.

“May I have the honor of loving you, through the moments when you feel broken and to the day when you will feel whole?”

My fingertips graze his wrist, clutching him for stability. “That almost sounds like…”

“A proposal?” His breath ghosts across my cheek. “Probably because it is.”

When his lips meet mine, I don’t know if I’m ready.

I don’t think anything could prepare me for the way Brian sweeps me off my feet.

Warmth flows into me, settling in my chest, and my heart calms. As I melt into his arms, unwelcome doubts flee.

Air eludes me after a minute, and Brian laughs as he frees my mouth .

“Easy,” he murmurs, voice rougher than I’ve ever heard it. He holds me tight, lips brushing the crown of my head. “You can have as many as you want. Anywhere you like.”

I flush, peeling myself back just enough to find my Brian’s not-so-innocent eyes.

He wiggles his brows.

I cover my face and hide against his chest. “Stop it.”

“What? Can’t handle how specific they are when they dance?”

I whimper. “I’m never going to live that down, am I?”

“Possibly not.” He squeezes me tight. “I love you.”

“I love you,” I mumble into my fingers.

“It’s gonna be okay.”

I press my cheek to his heart, hear it hammer. “Promise?”

“I do.”