Page 14 of Love Letters to Christmas

There isso muchgoing on.

I have no idea where to start.

“What doyouwant to do first?” I ask.

Brian’s smile shines brighter than the sun, and he reaches into his bag to pull out a small faded yellow envelope, barely a few inches wide and tall. Green wax seals the parchment, and I perk.

Green?

Casual correspondence?

Tiny letter?

I want it. I want a handful of them. I want a whole stack of them to play with.

I—

Brian approaches a woman in a wide-brimmed mushroom hat and flourishes a bow. “Afternoon, madam. A matter of utmost importance requires your attention.”

I want to kill her.

I want to wrestle a sword from a dwarf blacksmith’s hands and fight this woman to the death.

It destroys me to watch her gasp and take the letter, frantically breaking the seal to retrieve the card within. Bits of precious, beautiful wax fall to the dusty ground, and I take personal offense. When she giggles, I decide I hate her.

It’s not impossible that I blackout picturing ways to murder the mushroom lady until Brian is beside me, reviving my brain by offeringmea letter. “Do you want to deliver one?” he asks.

My fingers flinch around the worn paper, and I think my eyes are pleading when they meet Brian’s.No, they say, desperate and pitiful.I do not want todeliverone. I want tokeepone.

He laughs, so open and bright. “You can have yours later. Promise.”

“Mine?”

He pats a pocket on his thigh, where a letter I assumed was decorative pokes out. “Yours. For later.” He lifts his mail bag. “These are more…generic. They’ll make strangers happy. This one…” He grazes the letter in his pocket with his fingertips. “…this one is for you.”

My heart squeezes, and I think I’ll die if I don’t get that letter soon, turn it over, and see what color the wax seal is. Imagine…if it’sblue…

No.

No, there I go again. Wantingmore.

I can’t be grateful for even five minutes?

I will be patient. I will be content. I willcalm down.

I will calm down and pass out little letters to strangers, watch joy light in their eyes, and…let everything about this wraparound my soul.

Nothing can ruin this.

Nothing.

Not even the cruel, condemning words in my brain.

Brian and I spend the afternoon passing out letters, taking in the sights, petting dragons, contemplating purchasing fairy wings, and determining that Liam would absolutely, completely, entirelynotallow us to come into work with swords.

That is to say, Brian called him to ask. And he barely gothey, boss, is it against regulationout of his mouth before Liam said, affirmatively,yes.

Seated under a tree in a copse strung with chimes that catch the dying rays of the rainbow sun and throw it everywhere, Brian sighs. Nibbling his turkey leg, he leans back against the bark, stares through the branches at the sky, and watches a plane go by. Soft, he murmurs, “Metal dragon.”

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