Dearest Milton James

by N.R. Walker

My new mission, I decided, was to avoid Julian at all costs. Because the ground wouldn’t be so polite as to open up and swallow me whole, my only option was to pretend I didn’t just tell him I thought he was attractive and to avoid him.

“I never found anywhere I really fit in,” I admitted. “I get bored easily, and I’d rather chop and change and be happy than stick to one job I hated just for the stability.”

I got to open a bunch of parcels, which was fun. It was like opening presents all day long except they don’t belong to you and you don’t get to keep them, but it was the opening part that was fun. It was exciting!

“Uh, I’m almost one hundred per cent certain he’s not a serial killer.” I nodded slowly. “Almost certain. So you’re basically saying the chances are unlikely but unequivocally can never be zero. Got it.” “That’s not what I said.” “That’s what I heard.”

Julian barked out a disbelieving laugh. “Attractive people? I’m not attractive people.” I stared at him. Did I call him attractive? Again? Fuck. I think I did. Dear brain, Please disengage all talking operations. Actually, just shut down all mouth functionality. Cease all operations. Error 404, file not found, something to make it stop. I’d even take a fatal error, blue screen of death right now . . . “You okay?” he asked. “You look kinda green.”

“How are you at keeping secrets?” I sat forward, eyes wide, excited. “Absolutely terrible. Do not tell me anything.”

“I mean it. I might look a little feisty on the outside, but I am complete marshmallow on the inside.”

“One hundred per cent not my type but perfect in every way.” “Malachi, your type, until now, has been the emotionally unavailable, brain-dead muscle guys who want nothing but a quick fuck. I’m glad this guy is not your type. Nothing would make me happier if you started dating a guy who was the opposite of your type.”

“Every time he comes out of his office he looks at your desk first. He looks for you first.” I whispered. “He does not.” She squinted at me. “Your smile is a little frightening. Could you turn the wattage down a bit? I have sensitive retinas.”

“I better keep going with these. This here box contains a soccer field for a fish tank so your goldfish can play soccer. Quality, life-changing stuff.” “Nemo’s going to be so disappointed that it was never delivered,” I replied. I was about to suggest he check the address 42 Wallaby Way but thankfully my brain stopped me.

“We could get some takeout dinner and go to the park at the end of your street.” I made a face. As sweet as that sounded, it wasn’t a great idea. “We could. As long as the sun’s still out. Once it gets dark, it gets sketchy as hell, and I’m far too pretty to be thrown into the Hunger Games.”

Wanting to stay in and watch a movie or read a book, or whatever, is just as valid as going clubbing.

It took me a while to realise that. I swore off men for a long time.” “Oh, honey, I swear off men every weekend.”

I told her not to give me a reason to kill her, but she just laughed and said I could never kill her because I have the upper body strength of wet paper.”

“It’s like reading a book with the final chapter ripped out. This is like my worst nightmare.” “I thought fake body parts and human skin suits were your worst nightmare.” “They are. And books that don’t end makes three.”

“So what was I doing to you in this dream?” Holy fuck. He was playing me like a violin.

“You’re awfully confident.” “You’re awfully cute.”

“Can you see me without your glasses?” He smiled. “Yes. You’re the most beautiful blur I’ve ever seen.”

“That would be perfect. Sorry for crying.” He lifted my chin and kissed me sweetly. “Don’t ever apologise for having a heart, Malachi.”