Page 31 of Red Flag, Green Light

I smile as my anxiety tames. Amelia’s a peach.

“Check your messages,” she says, ordemandsrather. But in that sweet, graceful, surely not-at-all-demandingAmeliaway.

In mere moments, Ceres has pulled up an image on her large desktop monitor of Brian Single wearing a suit and tugging a pink tie loose. Unimpressed, she asks, “Is that a Nerf arrow he’sholding to his lips?”

“Yes!” Amelia squeals.

“Brian’s shooting people with Nerf arrows at his work?”

Amelia gasps. “Absolutely not. Brian wouldnever.” She clears her throat. “Now, the man in theCupidwings…is a different story. He can’t be trusted.”

“I feel as though I’m missing lore.” Ceres sinks, resting her cheek against her hand. “You’ve made this picture your wallpaper?”

Amelia chirps, “Yup! Phone and laptop. I added other photos to my desktop spread and decorated them with feathers, because Brian is an angel and he deserves nothing less than that recognition in his fandom, population: me.”

I need a collage of Ceres to be my phone and computer wallpaper.

However, I also need her to stop staring at another man’s thirst trap, hang up on her delightful friend, and share breakfast with me. Or I will die. Allegedly.

“Wait a second,” Amelia interjects into her ownBrian’s so amazingramble. “Why did you tell me that I’m on speakerphone? Aren’t I always on speakerphone? You don’t normally announce that I’m on speakerphone. I just hear your computer keys clacking and think,ah yes, I’m on speakerphone.”

“Hm?” Ceres graciously closes out of Brian’s page as though he means nothing to her and can’t get off her screen fast enough. “Oh. Mars is here.”

“Mars is there?” Amelia’s voice pitches. “In your house? Listening to me, right now?”

With some mild delay, Ceres says, “…affirmative.”

“Why?” Amelia squeaks, not at all in an unmanly way, of course.

Ceres’s chair swivels so she’s facing me again, dry gaze heavy.“That is the million dollar question, isn’t it?”

“Well, it’s not like he just walked into your house.”

So. About that.

Amelia gasps, interrupting whatever snark Ceres might have blessed us with if her left brow had been given the chance to fully arch. “Don’t tell me you two became friends after shopping together yesterday.”

Brow reaching peak, Ceres says, “Surely not.”

“Then what’s going on? Don’t you dare tell Briananything! Jove’s not the only one who knows how to slash a tire, you hear me? I know where you ride your bike.”

Them’s fighting words, missy.

Within a millisecond, Ceres shoots me a look that promises I won’t live to see another sunset if harm befalls Amelia in any shape or form, so I slump against the couch cushions and roll my eyes.

“Mars isn’t going to tell Brian anything,” Ceres assures her friend.

Imight. You don’t know me. Brian and I go way back. He’d encourage me to practice my ransom notes in high school. I’d slip stacks for those who had wronged Jove and me between the slats of Brian’s locker, and he’d sort them before delivering them to their appropriate locations. Besides, it’s not like it would matter if I tell Brian that Amelia likes him. Brian’s impervious to affection. He only cares about mail, yet he still wouldn’t get it even if I send him a letter that saysAmelia Christmas has been in love with you for over a decade.

Who in our schoolwasn’tin love with him?

And exactly how many people did he go out with?

Yeah. Zero.

The guy is some kind of fictional figure, like Santa Claus, or the Easter Bunny, or the Tooth Fairy, but for mail.

Making matters worse, his parents and his twin sister,Brianna, run the local post office here. They have for generations, and they’re all the exact same way. I’m not entirely sure how procreation transpires or what is in their water, all I know is that something is charmingly wrong with the Single family.

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