Page 52 of Love Letters to Christmas

“Yup,” I reply, not even looking. “It sure is.”

My dearest Brian,

I’m not sure I’d call myself brave, but something about the way you believe the best of others makes bravery seem more attainable.

Unfortunately, I fear that my character growth journey is going somewhat poorly. Every time I think I’ve made progress, something happens that informs me I haven’t at all. It’s hard to heal. It’s hard to feel worthy. Have you ever wrestled with inadequacy? It’s kind of annoying.

Just once, I’d like to wake up and believe that the world might not end by the afternoon because of something I’ve done or have failed to do.

But, anyway, that’s the journey update—if you can call it a journey when I’ve yet to do anything but stand still and pout at my stationary feet.

My favorite flavor of muffin is blueberry, with the coarse sugar on top. My favorite color is a very specific shade of green, and blues for anything else. I have absolutely no idea what my favorite restaurant is. I wish I could tell you, but I’ve not had muchexperience going out to eat. My mother was the sort to tell me we had food at home while I was growing up, so I would make the food at home and forgo an opinion on the matter. Every so often, we’d go to this small family-owned restaurant, but the food there is actually terrible, and I don’t know what compelled my parents to bring me. Perhaps so I’d stop asking to go out? I don’t know. It’s possible, but I’d rather not think about it.

I like not having to cook sometimes, so maybe any restaurant with better food than what that place had would tie.

Do you have a favorite food and color? What about a favorite flower?

Looking under rocks for her character arc,

Your Secret Admirer

P.S. - I hope this wax seal suits you. It’s the bluest blue I could find.

Lip pouting, I stare at the plain blue seal that I’ve left untouched on my envelope. It’s pretty, but of course it is. Amelia did it. It’s clear she used a seal mold, which is something I don’t remember her employing in previous creations. To my memory, she’d let her wax bubble, then she’d decorate the trim. It was natural. Organic. New every time. Sometimes, she’d swirl the colors and add a further layer of uniqueness to her art.

In contrast, this is almost clinical. Careful. An effort at dissectingherfrom her passion. In what I can only assume is a concentrated attempt to keep her identity secret.

Nevertheless, it is cold.

And I am sad.

Sad that she feels the need to hide anything from me.

Sad that my first seal from Amelia is pitiful when comparedto the realm of her abilities.

Sad, sad, sad.

“B-Brian?” Amelia says, voice wavering by the entrance to my office.

Dragging my attention up, I blink at…her.

Wow.

Yes.

Wait.

No.

No, no, no. Nope. Absolutely not.

Oh dear.

Tugging on her flouncy green skirt, Amelia swallows and shifts her weight. The bells on her hat chime, and she adjusts the material of her costume as her cheeks add a fabulous balance of more red to the mostly green ensemble.

My eyes scan, drinking in my little Christmas elf.

The candy cane striped tights are a vision. The peppermint buttons look sweet enough to bite. She’s a delicacy, a sugar-taunting delicacy.

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