Page 46 of Love Letters to Christmas

I’m perpetually stuck between wanting you and knowing I’ve got massive amounts of baggage to work through before I should even ask you to be mine.

This whole thing is foolish, I know. It’s inconvenient and pointless at best.

I’m not even sure what I’m trying to achieve with it.

Perhaps the still broken parts of me know you love mail and while I am not mail, I am able to produce it. I hope that creating something you might love eases the ache in my chest.

If nothing else, please enjoy this letter and know that someone treasures you above the breath in her lungs. Should you wish to reply, I have enclosed postage.

Should you not wish to reply, I understand, and I’d simply like to thank you for the joy you bring into my world whenever our paths cross.

Adoring you always,

Your Secret Admirer

I blink.

I reread.

My heart seizes.

I swallow.

I forget entirely how to breathe.

Adoring you always, Your Secret Admirer.

This isn’t a hate letter. It’s a love letter.A love letterfromAmelia Christmas.

“Surely…not,” I whisper beneath the rampant sound of my heartbeat in my ears, then I reread yet again, searching for the proof that this is a hate letter filled with rejection and disgust. Because it must be. Becausethere is no love seal.

Unless…could it be…

Did she leave off the seal, thinking it would give her away?

Does she…does she not realize how terribly incriminating her handwriting is?

No, can it be? It can’t. She cannot be this oblivious to how cute and unique her handwriting is. It’s impossible.

I cover my mouth with my hand and scan the bubbly font as it bounces across the stationary—adorable, adorable,adorable. She’s too adorable for words. And she likes me. Adores me. Thinks I’m confident and kind. The passion, of course, is given, considering how entrenched I am in the mail business. Butkind? That’s not an accurate compliment at all.

I have, in a matter of days, charged several thousand dollars to my boss’s credit card, manipulated my blind coworker, and conned my entire office into participating in my own personal romance schemes.

If there’s one thing I’m not, it’s kind.

Which is probably why—instead of going to Amelia and telling her that I also like her, she’s fine just the way she is, and working on herself is pointless when she’s already perfect—I peruse the collection of stationery I keep at work, select my bluest style—dubbed Ethereal Night—and secure a pen.

My dearest Admirer,

It’s an honor to make your acquaintance…

Is thiskind? No. Will it result in more bubbly font letters forme? Yes. Might I even obtain a seal at some point if I play my cards right? Maybe.

And am I going to pretend I’m doing this out of respect for her desire to somehow become an evenbetterperson before anything between us goes anywhere?

Totally.

Therefore, “kind” really is a poor assessment, and maybe it’s prudent for her to learn that before we find ourselves romantically entangled. Because if she decides later that I’m not what she thinks I amafterI’ve lost my entire heart to her? Well.

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