Christmas Delivery

1. Day One

Day One

I adjusted the floppy Santa hat on my head and plastered the customer service smile on my face before I knocked on the brown door of the flat before me.

After a moment, a pretty face peered at me suspiciously from the slightly ajar door.

“Are you going to try to sell me something? Because thanks, no thanks. I’m not paying for anything.”

“On the contrary, I have a free gift for you!”

I realized how that sounded only when the door started to close.

“No, wait!” A yelp left my throat. “I’m a courier. I promise I’m not trying to upsell anything by predatory marketing methods! Here, I have a package for you.” I thrust the beautifully packaged box at the guy and he took it slowly. “I was told it’s a gift!”

My ultimate weapon, the beaming smile, seemed to work this time because the blond man took the offering.

“You were told, huh? That doesn’t seem like a normal throw-the-stuff-at-them-and-run service,” the man pointed out and I rubbed the back of my head.

“Yeah, I’m like, a premium,” I laughed, pointing awkwardly at my Christmas hat. “The sender was also very interested in your reaction, so, uh, could you open it in front of me? Pretty please?”

“Your tip hanging on that?” the blond snorted. “Fine, let’s say I’m already in a Christmas spirit, so I will do you a solid.”

Slender fingers opened the package carefully, taking care not to destroy the pretty silk ribbon and even prettier floral paper.

I leaned forward eagerly, as I didn’t know what would be inside either. Hopefully not a glitter bomb! Avoiding a repeat of that disaster was my new life goal. I said a quiet prayer to the gods of logistics, hoping I would not have to sparkle for the next month. What was revealed to our eyes was a slender, elongated box. And inside hid…

“A watch?” the blond man spluttered. “What the hell am I going to do with an analog watch? This looks pricy, right? Is this gold? Oh my god, is this one of those ten thousand dollar watches or something?”

My eyebrows rose higher and higher.

“It… does look very shiny. And those tree and bird engravings look pretty detailed…” I added my three cents at the miffed look.

“It looks fucking bespoke. Wait, is whoever sent it trying to kill me? If I wear something like that in the hood I will be robbed blind in a second!”

Seeing the blond panic, I pointed at a little rolled-up piece of paper in the box.

“There’s a note? Maybe it will explain everything?” I said helpfully.

The blond snatched the note up and unrolled it with a decisive motion.

“On the first day of Christmas my true love sent to me

A partridge in a pear tree.”

We both stared for a moment after the blond read the words.

“What does that even mean? Is someone making fun of me?” the blond groaned.

“Huh, wait, I think I have heard those words somewhere… Oh, oh, it’s a song!” I hummed the notes that went along with the words. Maybe I wasn’t especially skilled in singing, but my efforts were apparently enough to trigger the blond’s memory.

He groaned.

“An accursed ‘The Twelve Days of Christmas’ carol. A British carol. And an obnoxious rich-boy gift with one to boot! I know only one Englishman who would be stupid enough to send me such a present.”

“A paramour?” I perked up.

“An asshole who threatened to court me. Wait here for a second. I have some words for him as well.”

“Leonard sent a response?” Peter, the millionaire who had hired me, asked once I ascended to his penthouse after what felt like forever in the lift. “Can you… could you read it to me?”

Oh, bless him, he looked nervous. His face didn’t show it much, and I had a feeling that resting bitch face was his default expression, but I was pretty good at reading people. Deciphering those micro-expressions sometimes meant the difference between getting a smile or a knife in the wild, wild city of New York, so I had developed my observation skills over the years. That, and my fast feet saved me many times.

“Sure, boss,” I agreed. With the amount this guy was paying me, I would tap dance if he asked me to. My eyes widened as I opened the square of paper, but it was too late to back out now.

It was poetry, but wow, the fuck you kind of poetry.

“Like a nest of bees

My feelings have been stirred

What in the nine hells.”

I winced when I finished reading the haiku, but Peter didn’t look suitably devastated.

“Uh… isn’t this bad? Sir?” I couldn’t help but ask.

“He responded,” Peter said. “It’s more than I expected so early. I don’t fear his fiery temper. I worried about getting silence. Being ignored. This… this still leaves me a chance. If I need to learn how to handle stinging bees to get close to him, I will do so.”