Page 31 of Red Flags Only

I revisit my plan to sabotage her mail truck.

“Brianna,” I grit. “Answer the question.”

She hems. She haws. She flirts with swift, unrepentant tire slashing.

A growl rips out of me, threatening to take the entire post office down with her.

“Oh, chill out,” she says, eyes rolling. “Bright red.Usually. But, seriously, it depends on the mai–”

“I’m leaving,” I tell her, snapping the catalog closed. “Give me my mail.”

She sniffs. “I don’t care for your tone.”

I grunt. “I don’t care for your… you.”

“Is there a reason that Mars doesn’t come to get the mail?” she asks. “He’s a lot more pleasant to be around.”

“Because Mars rides a bike,” I reply, theduhloud and clear. “What, he’s going to lug around twenty pounds of mail in his basket? Don’t be stupid.”

Brianna, unfortunately, does not know how not to be stupid. “How about you not be bossy and rude when you’re in here? It says a lot about a person how they treat service workers, you know.”

My brows slam together. “You’re not a service worker,” I refute. “You’reBrianna.”

She stares at me.

I stare back.

This goes on until the bell above the door rings, heralding more townies with more tedious questions for her to answer.

“I haveservicework to do,” she tells me, saccharine, before snatching my box of fan mail – and Lyra’s letter – and plonking it on the counter. “Sign the machine, sir, then you can have awonderfulday.”

Ignoringhertone, I sign, then grab the box. My middle finger may or may not be prominent from her point of view. “Until next time,” I say, all congeniality.

At home, I drop off our fan mail in Mars’ room before wandering to the kitchen with Lyra’s letter – an adorably purple thing that was nearly impossible not to sneak peeks at while she was making it. Her table has way more than a couple of planets adorning it now, all thanks to my dedication to maintaining the sanctity of the letter-makingprocess. I’m sure the frown Lyra bid me farewell with was a frown of gratefulness for my extreme self-control as well as my contributions to her household decorating. I am, as ever, at her service.

In the kitchen, a freshly iced carrot cake calls my name. I cut a perfectly proportional piece, pour myself a glass of milk, and settle in at the table to read Lyra’s letter.

Dear Jupiter,

I’m sure you noticed, but I’m going to say it anyway. I love the butterfly. Love love love it. I know I asked if you planned to take it back, but you have to know that I would have fought you to the death if you had said yes.

It is, by far, the most beautiful, most thoughtful, most soul-moving gift I have ever gotten. I’m going to treasure it forever. I’m already running through ways I can display her and still have access to the goodness inside. I think mayb-

…

Jupiter. I’ve just glanced up, and you appear to be carving the entire milky way into my table. And is that the Starship Enterprise? I make one Star Trek reference and it’s immortalized into my table forever?

You know what. No. Nevermind. You do you. I’m not going to sass a man with a knife. Especially when he can afford to replace the table, and it’ll feel about the same to him as buying a pack of gum does to me.

You know, somehow, even with the blatantdestruction of property, I’m glad you came over tonight. You feel both foreign and familiar at the same time, which is a little petrifying, but it’s nice, too. I’ve spent so much time focusing on you being Jove, I’ve forgotten to marinate on the fact that you’re also Jupiter. My Jupiter, from the letters, finally here in person. I could touch you! You exist!

I really hope I can get past my change-is-bad-and-I-hate-it scaredness to fall into the comfortable friendship you’re offering me. Quickly, preferably. I just don’t really know how? I hate asking you to be patient with me when you already have been so… well, not exactly patient. Understanding is a better word. Steadfast. Stubbornly set on keeping this friendship no matter the work it takes to make it happen. I mean, goodness, I’ve never felt so sure that someone is going to stick around – whether I’m inviting them to or not.

I know it might not seem like it, what with the fact that you terrify me and all, but I’m grateful you keep showing up. You were right in your letter – youarestill my friend, the same one you’ve always been. The one who knows me better than anyone else, including my faults and embarrassing moments, and still chooses to love me enough to fight for this friendship when I’m being… well, me.

Thank you, Jupiter, for fighting for us. I’m sorry that I haven’t been doing thesame.

I want to make it up to you. This dating thing is even more scary than the you being a man thing, but I promise you I will do everything that I can to make it work for you. I’m all in. Helping. Being a good friend. Proving to you that I am not totally sucky and all your efforts are worth it.

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