Page 26 of Our Elliana

He looks thoughtful for a second before shaking his head. “I know. But Gerald and I are trying to make it work.”

“Gerald? I thought you broke up with him last week.”

“I did, baby. I did. But you know how it is.” He shrugs. I love my BFF with my whole heart, but his taste in men is just deplorable. He’ll take the lout over the dependable nice guy every damn time. Still, I get the compulsion to not abandon the devil you know even if Gerald is a royal asshat.

I’ve been there.

Just goes to prove that Elegance really does have several niches out there it can fill.

We dish about my men’s pecs, abs, penis sizes and shapes. It’s an occupational hazard of having a bestie who manages the shop I own. We can’t help but gossip every morning before we open, and sometimes we discuss my get-togethers with Jackson as we lock up for the evening.

It’s around an hour prior to closing when the postal service usually pops in to deliver our mail. Andre collects the handful, and since most of it is junk, only passes me the stuff addressed to my name specifically.

My workshop door is open by a crack, so he simply lays it on a small table and vanishes without disturbing me. He knows that I often become lost in my own world while cocooned in what I call my designing sanctuary.

I raise my optivisors—goggles jewelers utilize to view miniature objects—and wipe my hands down my apron. I have a belly ring with pink diamonds that I’m doing my best to perfect, so when I pick up the single envelope he left, it’s with a distracted mind.

At least until I scrutinize it more closely.

Then, I frown.

It’s a card. I can tell from the heft and feel of it. I do have a birthday approaching but not for two more months. Once I crack the seal and unsheathe the thick paper, I discover it’s not a birthday card at all. Instead, on the front is a picture of peace lilies over a pale gray background saying, “With sincerest condolences and heartfelt sympathy” in a script-like font.

I flip it open hoping to find out who sent this to me.

Inside, though, it’s blank. No personal markings of any kind are written anywhere. I check the envelope again but there’s no return address. Why would someone send this to me? The last relation of mine to pass away was my dad five years ago. Has someone he’d known just now discovered that he’d died? And if so, why not sign their name?

It’s odd, no doubt.

But after a minute or two, I lose myself in my work again.

TWELVE: Strip Poker

NOAH

I’m accustomed to being around a group of guys. Throughout my youth, I was surrounded by the other boys at church, and I clowned around with my younger brothers day in and day out. As soon as he was able to dribble a basketball, my brother Aaron and I played HORSE and one-on-one despite our five-year age gap.

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