“Where are you going?” he asks.

I beam. “I accepted a helping task! I’m going to get Frank a coffee.”

Brian’s lips tilt. “Oh, Frank. Already abusing the system. It took her all of a single hour… That’s practically a record.” With a sigh, he says, “Be safe.”

“I will!” For absolutely no logical reason at all, I salute, then I spin on my heels and head up to the nearest breakroom so I can make Frank a coffee and earn my nice list points…

After all, I love a good ruse and a feeble attempt to distract myself from the fact I woke up this morning withNew Month, New Meenergy. The crazyfirst-of-the-monthvibes compelled me to shove my secret admirer love letter in my dress skirt pocket and concoct a plan to get a PO box on my lunch break while I brushed my teeth.

Regardless that it’s July 1st, I am still the same old Amelia Christmas, perpetually basking in Brian Single’s whimsy and seeking validation from anything that might spare me a moment’s consideration.

Even if thatanythingis a program on a computer claiming that my efforts result in admittance to a nice list.

Let’s just say that if the Amelia Christmas of yesterday would still do anything for a fireworks animation, then really nothing about me has changed at all.

Chapter Sixteen

Is this…hatred?

Brian

I’m disappointed.

I’m devastated.

I shall never recover.

Blowing out a breath, I turn a letter that I’ve just found in today’s mail over and stare at the flap. No wax. Not a drop of art. The handwriting is painfully familiar, because it is obviously Amelia’s, which means—first—it should have a wax seal that belongs in a museum gracing it, and—second—it should probably have her name on the return address.

It does not.

All it has is a PO box.

A PO box.

Do I have a PO box? Yes. Of course. Anything to support the post. Liam sends random magazines there sometimes as little surprises for me. PO boxes are great. Love them.

I’d just like to know why Amelia isn’t using our home address. Is our mailbox not good enough for her even though a gnome is hugging it right now?

Does she…hate me?

Maybe she decided that she hates me mere weeks after I realized I hold her in rather high esteem. Maybe she has determined to despise me, to taunt me with a seal-less hate letter, to suggest she has recognized my feelings for her and demand I stop.

Okay, maybe I’m exaggerating. Amelia is sweet and kind. She wouldn’t send mehatemail in response to learning about my feelings, but she would carefully and articulately sayplease, no.

I’m certain that’s what this is.

And my chest hurts just thinking about the heartbreaking rejection I’m about to face.

I can’t believe she figured out I planned this entire Christmas in July event as a means to initiate romantic scenarios with her. She must have scrawled aplease cease and desistletter during her lunch break yesterday. Then she went and got a whole PO box so she could send the clear message that we aren’tevergoing to share a mailbox.

If only I’d been able to prepare myself better. I did think it was odd that she disappeared for her lunch break, but I assumed she was doing tasks in other departments. I spent my break pouting over a croissant from Sweet & Salty and bemoaning that my month-long scheme was a waste if it stole her from me so she could get people coffee.

In reality, she wrote her letter and walked down the street to the post office off main so she could send it.

Flicking my attention toward Amelia—who has been energetically bouncing all over the building for two days but who is currently busy sorting packages on the other side of the room—I swallow my feelings in favor of logic.

Even if Amelia has no interest in my affections, she wouldn’t be cruel about it.