Page 6 of Love Letters to Christmas

I straighten when Brian passes me, then I twist toward Frank, who is plucking her letter up off her drawing table, opening a drawer in her desk, and setting it lovingly inside atop others speckled in hearts. Warmth fills me as I say, “It was very nice to meet you, Frank.”

“A-mail-ia!” Brian calls. “Don’t get too far behind fraternizing with those who have yet to appreciate the power of mail. The elevator takes several business days to operate.”

“Sorry! Coming!” I dart out of the graphics office, up the hall, and into the forced proximity of the elevator for an unforeseeable length of time. Fiddling with the frilled hem of my dress skirt, I say, “Sorry.”

“You don’t have to apologize.”

“She was saving her letter.”

Brian breathes a laugh. “I know. She saves all of them. She’s just a bit overstimulated today. She loves her husband and his casual love letters. He comes by the office sometimes just to bring her coffee and a snack. Once, he did it in a flour-covered apron, and she nearly killed him. It was very cute. She said no one was allowed to see him like that but her. He was beet red before he left, but he was smiling deeply.”

I love them, your honor. “They sound precious.”

“Yep.” Brian sifts through his mail bag, assessing the next floor’s deliveries. “She can grumble all she wants about howtextingis more convenient and lessstationed in the trenches of the working world, but nothing embodies the love they have like a letter. Someday, they’ll be able to sort through those memories. Infinite text scroll can’t capture what mail can.”

“That’s beautiful.”

Brian smiles at me. “Love always is.”

When the elevator doors open, someone somewhere downthe hall shrieks, “Will!” and Brian laughs.

“Speaking of lovebirds…” he says, “…let’s meet another pair.”

Chapter Three

I think I’m gonna like it here.

Amelia

A man who seems as severe as the sorts of guys my best friend, Ceres, reads about in her dark romances glares at me beyond his cherrywood desk. Eyes dark and fingers threaded before his lips, he scans me, head to toe, as though his petite and perfect, curly-headed, Barbie blonde wife isn’t sitting on the arm of his chair.

“Bambi,” he says.

“No,” she replies, sharply, in a tone that doesn’t really match how she looks any more than the gothic dress contrasting her pale skin.

Fidgeting, I look to Brian for help.

He translates effortlessly, “Liam wants Amber to get a dress like yours. He loves how cute it is. She refuses.”

I look down at my dress, and—admittedly—I got it because it was adorable, but… I look back up at the big boss of Whirlwind Branding, William Warrick… Are wesurethat’s whathe’sthinking?

“Tiny flowers,” he mutters.

Therearetiny flowers scattered all over the sheer material making up my sleeves and my outer skirt’s lining.

However, no matter how petite and blonde Mr. Warrick’s wife happens to be, she does not seem the type to dress in tiny flowers unless they are black or blood red and wilting. Instead of tiny flowers in her skirt’s lining, she has tattered black lace against ink-dark satin.

“Sweet & Salty still has cupcakes with tiny flowers on them right now,” Brian offers, as a balm. “They were for Easter. Becausetheylove Easter.”

Liam’s gaze drags off my clothes and holds to Brian. “Easter was last week. You’re still upset?”

“Upset?” Brian gasps. “Who?” He looks behind himself, at no one, then faces forward—aghast—finger pointed at his face. “Me?” He sniffs. “No, of course not. Why would betrayal upset me?”

Amber crosses her arms. “We already told you. Your Countdown to Valentine event resulted in dozens of complaints. We need to let the office cool down before we try something else like that again. We are on your side. The night after rejecting your Easter plans, Liam lay face-down in our bed for two hours, depressed.”

Brian sags. “All those complaints were Ruby, because she was sad she couldn’t participate in all the activities to the fullest due to her disability. If I were unable to behold the beauty of holiday decorations, I’d complain, too. I said in my Easter presentation that I’d make a point to have even more tactile decor and commission Easter songs to be written to help better involve our blind staff.”

“She specifically, actually, on multiple accounts asked that she be involved less,” Amber says.

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