Page 4 of Love Letters to Christmas

I think I’m gonna like it here.

Amelia

A man who seems as severe as the sorts of guys my best friend, Ceres, reads about in her dark romances glares at me beyond his cherrywood desk.

Eyes dark and fingers threaded before his lips, he scans me, head to toe, as though his petite and perfect, curly-headed, Barbie blonde wife isn’t sitting on the arm of his chair.

“Bambi,” he says.

“No,” she replies, sharply, in a tone that doesn’t really match how she looks any more than the gothic dress contrasting her pale skin.

Fidgeting, I look to Brian for help.

He translates effortlessly, “Liam wants Amber to get a dress like yours. He loves how cute it is. She refuses.”

I look down at my dress, and—admittedly—I got it because it was adorable, but… I look back up at the big boss of Whirlwind Branding, William Warrick… Are we sure that’s what he’s thinking?

“Tiny flowers,” he mutters.

There are tiny flowers scattered all over the sheer material making up my sleeves and my outer skirt’s lining.

However, no matter how petite and blonde Mr. Warrick’s wife happens to be, she does not seem the type to dress in tiny flowers unless they are black or blood red and wilting. Instead of tiny flowers in her skirt’s lining, she has tattered black lace against ink-dark satin.

“Sweet & Salty still has cupcakes with tiny flowers on them right now,” Brian offers, as a balm. “They were for Easter. Because they love Easter.”

Liam’s gaze drags off my clothes and holds to Brian. “Easter was last week. You’re still upset?”

“Upset?” Brian gasps. “Who?” He looks behind himself, at no one, then faces forward—aghast—finger pointed at his face. “ Me? ” He sniffs. “No, of course not. Why would betrayal upset me?”

Amber crosses her arms. “We already told you. Your Countdown to Valentine event resulted in dozens of complaints. We need to let the office cool down before we try something else like that again. We are on your side. The night after rejecting your Easter plans, Liam lay face-down in our bed for two hours, depressed.”

Brian sags. “All those complaints were Ruby, because she was sad she couldn’t participate in all the activities to the fullest due to her disability.

If I were unable to behold the beauty of holiday decorations, I’d complain, too.

I said in my Easter presentation that I’d make a point to have even more tactile decor and commission Easter songs to be written to help better involve our blind staff. ”

“She specifically, actually, on multiple accounts asked that she be involved less,” Amber says.

“And Frank also complained that her workload couldn’t support the mandatory participation.

” Liam scowls. “It’s unfortunate, but some jobs can’t be outsourced in order for everyone to have fun.

For Whirlwind Branding to function,” he grumbles, seeming deeply put out by his words, “it requires that my employees actually work.”

Amber pats Liam’s head, running her fingers through his dark waves.

“What an unprecedented and depressing thing to have learned.” Merciless, she turns her focus on Brian.

“If there’s nothing else, it was a pleasure to meet your new mailroom assistant.

You may get back to work…and keep the cute outfits somewhere far away from my silly little husband’s puppy dog eyes… like in the basement.”

I gulp.

Planting his palm on my lower back, Brian wheels me toward the door. “Understood loud and clear. My next plan will work around work schedules—and be extra cute in a way that won’t end up in your closet or on any hangers beneath any sad eyes.”

I don’t think that’s entirely what they were saying, but as Brian escorts me from the penthouse office, I look back to find Amber smiling down at Liam, whose head has found a home against her side.

Eyes closed, he soaks in something gentle that she offers, and I relax by the time Brian and I are back in the elevator, heading down, down, down into the basement mailroom.

“What do you think of the place?” Brian asks as he falls against the back wall railing and tucks his hands in his khaki pants pockets.

“It’s very…” Nice. Characterized. Full. Like a small town operating in a single, bustling building. Stories live and breathe here, interwoven together, connected by the mailroom.

This is a beating heart with us as the veins.

“Very?” he prompts.

“Kind.” Even when Ruby, the single blind employee in the building, was screaming at her husband, there was a certain calm in the space that I can’t explain.

Like everyone could see the blush in her cheeks, even if she ignored it fully up until the moment Will tapped a kiss to her lips, then walked away, whistling.

I like it here, already.

Bracing myself to meet the full beauty of Brian’s eyes, I say, “Thank you.” My breath shivers as I fight the emotion threatening to rise.

“So much. I…I don’t know what else to say.

I’ll do my very best and work very hard, a-and try to make sure I continue to not be trouble at home.

I just… Thank you for this chance to start over. ”

Reaching into his bag, Brian procures one last envelope and taps my forehead with it.

Smile unleashed, he says, “Don’t mention it, A-mail-ia.

” He lets go once I grasp the paper, and the elevator doors slide open to reveal his kingdom of sorting systems and shelves.

Walking out, he says, “And, for the record, people who greet other people with homemade dinners when they come home are never trouble.” With a wave, he heads toward his office.

“But, even without all that, I think you in particular would find it very, very hard to trouble me.”

Me… in particular ?

Stifling a squeak when the elevator doors try to close on me, I drag my attention off Brian long enough to make it to the desk I’ve claimed as my own and the training manual Brian gave me before we went on our building-wide escapade.

Taking a deep breath, I tell my heart to settle and look at the formal letter in my hands.

I’m sure he didn’t mean anything by that comment.

Why would he?

I open the letter, and my heart nearly stops when I locate the check within.

A sign-on bonus. I have never seen this much money all in one place before.

Never once. Now that I think about it, I…

don’t actually know how much money I’m making here.

The moment I learned that there was an opportunity to get away from where I was working—Walmart—and move in with Brian , everything else shut down.

I’d work for a gum wrapper and three pennies a week if it meant staying somewhere as bright and warm as Brian’s home.

This…is not three pennies.

Gulping, I locate a note tucked in with the check and read:

A-mail-ia,

It’s an honor and a joy to be working with you. You never realize how much you miss someone until they’re not around anymore, but I think, out of everyone in Bandera, I missed you the most.

To our beautiful future,

Brian

He missed me? Out of a million others, he missed a random girl who hung around him sometimes?

Surely, he doesn’t mean anything by this.

This is just him being polite and kind and welcoming—all the Brian traits that always had people flocking to his princely veneer.

He was passionate and mature and sooo not like the other boys.

He never bullied anyone. Never made crude jokes.

Never acted like a toddler. Never broke the rules.

He just had his mail. And worked at his family’s post office.

He was the pristine, good guy with a work ethic and clean clothes and a plan.

Even as kids, we saw the future husband traits in him, gleaming like a beacon.

It killed me when I learned that his plan was to leave town after high school.

But he didn’t even say goodbye to me…so it makes no sense for him to have missed me the most . Not a single bit.

He’s just being nice.

And I’m just fabricating an idea that I could have all this and more.

Which is not very grateful of me at all. I should be grateful, and stop wanting more.

Setting my sign-on bonus and the letter aside, I open up my training manual and start where I left off before we went on our rounds, which was around page fifteen of the why you should love mail opening.

Brian said I could skip it, since I already embody the heart and soul of a mailroom worker, but in my heart and soul I knew there was no way I’d miss out on reading a single word Brian has written, much less when what he’s written is a love letter to mail.

Allowing the peace of my new life to consume me, I sink into Brian’s words for the rest of the day.