anonymously sending me gifts. Kind of driving me bonkers. Anyone have any clue as to who's doing this? Or a way I can find out?
The hive mind did not disappoint. Within minutes, several people pointed out what I'd failed to see.
A partridge in a pear tree.
Two turtle doves.
Three French hens.
Four calling birds.
The gifts were referencing the Twelve Days of Christmas.
I grinned when I saw the connection, delighted. Very clever! The gifts weren't expensive in and of themselves, but someone was going to a fair amount of trouble to think these up and get them delivered. Going to all that trouble--for me.
But who?
The next day when Hunky UPS Guy rang my doorbell, I was expecting him--or at least laying good odds there'd be another package. I'd even put on a nice shirt.
It's tempting to get sloppy when you work at home and live alone. But just knowing the good-looking delivery man would be seeing me was enough motivation to shave and put on a fresh purple button-down shirt. Yes, I really was, and always would be, gay. I put on my black mask before opening the door.
He held a box that was long and flat. "This is becoming a habit," he said, eyes crinkled with amusement above his mask.
"I know. Sorry this is making extra work for you."
"Are you kidding? Best thing in my day. I kept thinking about what you said. You really don't know who's sending these packages?"
I shook my head. "I really don't."
"Hmm. I like that. I'm a participant in a mystery. Maybe even a great romance."
"Yeah, probably not that," I said wryly, wishing he could see my smile. "But I tell you what--if I'm wrong, you'll be the first to be invited to the wedding."
"I certainly hope so," he said smoothly. "Or you might write a story about it, and I'll have a bit part."
I raised my eyebrows at him in surprise.
He ducked his head. "I delivered some boxes from a publisher over the summer. I figured you're a writer."
"Yes. Yes, I am."
Hunky UPS Guy was starting to intrigue me. He was clearly more than nice biceps and a fine set of calves. I leaned against the open doorway and tucked the new package under my arm. "Do you remember all the packages you deliver?"
He appeared to grimace behind his mask. "It probably sounds like I'm a snoop. I'm really not. It's just that I deliver so many boxes that are the same. Amazon. Walgreens. Target. CVS. So I tend to notice when something's atypical. You get to know your customers on a route. Who's a doctor. Who has pets. Who's--"
"A writer."
He wiped his brow with his sleeve. He had nice hands too. Sturdy and capable. "I would never tell a living soul what my customers receive in the mail. But it's hard not to notice."
I chuckled. "Well. If you ever want to retire, I'm sure there's blackmail opportunity there. 'A dildo for Mr. O'Brien on South Street.'"
He laughed. "In this neighborhood, it's more who doesn't get dildos by mail." He winked at me cheekily. "Anyway. You have a good day, Mr. Nielsen."
He walked back to his truck. This time I didn't try to hide the fact that I was watching him. He gave me a wave before driving off.
Well that was interesting. And perhaps I was starved for human contact in this age of COVID, but I whistled happily as I went back inside, cheered by the short—and, dare I think it—flirty?—interaction.
I suppose it was no shocker that the UPS guy who serviced Port Lodge would be aware of the demographics of this little slice of heaven. Port Lodge wasn't exclusively gay by any means, but it was one of the gayer areas outside of Seattle's Capitol Hill, where I'd lived for many years. Port Lodge was too far away from Seattle to comfortably commute, and therefore had retirees, work-from-homers like me, and a thriving artist community. And it had lots of gays.
As my friend Sean put it, it wasn't a "party gays" scene, but rather a "settled down gays" type of community. I wasn't sure that was ideal for me since I was single. But I was happy to be out of the city, and I found the vibe very safe and comforting. It was as much of a draw as the water views and lush green trees.
Unfortunately, I hadn't had the opportunity to find out if there were single men about. I'd moved here six months ago in the middle of a pandemic. Invitations