Page 53 of Love Letters to Christmas

Violently, the compulsion that she not leave my sight and enter anyone else’s grips me.

And that’s a rather compelling issue, considering we’re dressed as elves on this lovely Monday after the Fourth of July in order that we might go around the office and collect letters to Santa.

Amelia’s eyes flick up to me, then back down.

Oops. Right. Yes. She said my name, didn’t she? Love that…love that… Maybe if I wait long enough she’ll say it again? Nudging that thought from my brain, I plant a smile on my face and my chin in my palm. “What’s up, A-mail-ia?” I ask, ignoring the odd strain in my voice.

“Is this skirt…too short?”

My attention dashes between her face and her hands as theyclutch the material of her skirt. It sits roughly an inch above her knees, which are covered in her candy cane tights. There is no skin to be seen, and I’m not entirely the type of guy who pays attention to skirt lengths, either.

Except, probably, if a skirt proves to be shorter than a mailbag.

And Amelia’s skirt is absolutely not shorter than her mailbag, which rests against her hip.

Because she’s notjusta little Christmas elf. She’s a little Christmasmailelf.

I am…actually unwell. Voice distant, I echo, “Short?” Emotions conflicted, I stare. IwantLittle Mail Elf-melia, but I donotwant to share Little Mail Elf-melia. I could ask her to stay in the mailroom and sort letters, except all the letters we’re getting this afternoon are for Santa and we’ve already sorted today’s incoming mail to deliver when we gather Santa’s letters so we can streamline the process. Not to mention, if she stays down here while I’m upstairs, I will not even get to enjoy Little Mail Elf-melia.

“I don’t know if this is business appropriate,” she whispers.

Absolutely it is. But also it isn’t. Because we are dressed like elves. And dressing like an elf isn’t exactly up to dress code.

And if Micheal knew I shoved an elf costume into my subordinate’s hands ten minutes ago, he would havewordsfor me.

Words likeYou’reand possiblyfired. Even though Micheal has no real jurisdiction over those kinds of things, he might whistleblow. I’ve managed thus far to keep people from attempting to contact Liam with complaints, and I’d like to keep it that way.

“If it makes you uncomfortable, you don’t have to wear it,” I say, an HR icon.

“I don’t want to ruin the fun.”

I don’t want the public to witness how well her red cheeks complement the green of her outfit. Therefore, it is at this exact moment I have a positivelyGrinchlyidea.

Chapter Nineteen

Santa-melia is coming to town.

Amelia

“Ho, ho, ho!” I cheer, voice as deep as I can make it. “Have any letters for me, little one?”

Frank stares at me. Potentially concerned. Potentially trying to figure out if this is a good joke, or a very, very bad one.

Realization hits me, and I shuffle in my mail bag. Using my normal voice, I offer her a letter from Norman. “I almost forgot. You have mail, too. Or I hope you have mailtoo.” I make my voice deep again. “Assuming you do have a letter for me.”

That makes Frank snort. “Brian needs to be stopped.”

“Huh?”

“This?” She flicks her finger at me before taking the letter from her husband. “This is criminal. There has to be a rule against making your underlings wear a fake beard and stomach.”

I look down the white beard of my Santa costume at the pillow I stuffed in my red coat. The outfit is way too big on me in every way since it was something Brian ordered for Liam to have whenever he gets back, but he said it was fine, and Liam doesn’t need it anyway.

For some reason, when I mentioned that I could wash it and return it, Brian just smiled very brightly and said,No, before ushering me into the mailroom bathroom.

“Heh,” Frank says, grinning at her open letter when I look back up at her. She shows me the cardstock interior, boasting a simple but effective,Hi. :)“He paid postage for this.”

It’s wild what adults decide to do with their adult money.

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