Gifts for the Season - R.J. Scott Page 0,50

to local barbecues were hard to come by these days. And Sean and Graham, my friends who lived in Port Lodge, and who'd introduced me to this place, were off doing a house sit in Canada.

And what about Hunky UPS Guy? Was he gay or simply comfortable with his customers who were? He'd fit right in on a YMCA cosplay, with his uniform over all that lush muscle. But that didn't make him gay.

I sighed and took my package inside. Gay or not, I was getting ahead of myself if I thought he was flirting. I really was starved for human contact.

What I should be focusing on was my secret Santa. Now there was someone who was trying to get my attention. What would be inside today? Was it too much to hope for a clue as to the sender?

Today's gift was a set of wooden napkin rings painted a matte gold. Five gold rings. There were only four in the box, but it was close enough.

We were definitely twelve days of Christmassing then.

How wonderfully bizarre.

Chapter Two

"Another package today. The plot thickens." Hunky UPS guy held out today's box. It was large, maybe twenty-four inches across.

I wore a green sweater, one my friends said complemented my dirty blond hair and brown eyes. They'd laugh at me hysterically if they knew I was dressing up for the UPS man.

Then again, if they saw him, they'd be shoving me out of the way.

I took the package and looked at the return address. Amazon. "I haven't ordered anything, so it must be from my mystery man."

"He's certainly laying it on thick." Hunky UPS Guy leaned against one of the wooden pillars that held up the overhang above my small front porch. I felt a flutter of excitement in my belly. He didn't seem to be in any hurry to leave. And I wasn't in a hurry to have him gone. It was very rainy--not unusual for December in the Pacific Northwest. Maybe he needed a moment's respite from driving in that mess.

"There is a plan behind all these gifts," I explained. "It seems my anonymous friend is doing the Twelve Days of Christmas. Which would make this package the fifth of twelve. Possibly. If he doesn't get bored of the game or run out of funding."

"The Twelve Days of Christmas?" UPS Guy sounded dubious. "Wouldn't that require live birds and ducks and things?"

"Well, it's a very loose interpretation." I explained about the poem and the five gifts that seemed to match it so far.

"So if he's true to form, today's gift would have to fit six geese a-laying," Hunky UPS Guy said.

Well then. I had never been slow to seize an opportunity. "Would you like to find out? I can open it." I offered.

"Sure!" I could swear there was a smile behind that mask.

"Just a second."

I went inside, hurrying to put the package on the counter in the kitchen and grab a knife. It was a bit weird to be opening a package to show it to the UPS man. But if he was interested in being more than my delivery person, I was all for it. He seemed nice, was certainly gorgeous, and I was lonely. Maybe, at the very least, we could be friendly?

I opened the box and peeked inside. I was confused. And a little disappointed. I headed back outside.

"Well, so much for that theory." I showed him the item that had been in the box. It was a white bed pillow compressed in a clear plastic bag.

"Hang on." He looked at the item closely but didn't touch it. Another COVID concession. "All-natural goose-down pillow. There you go. It involves geese."

"Oh! Right." I turned the pillow and looked at the label more closely. "Well damn. My mystery man is sharper than I am, apparently."

"You really have no idea who it might be? You must have a boyfriend. Or someone who wants to be?" His question was leading, his eyes warm. Was he fishing? I decided he probably was. Which made my belly flutter and my pulse race.

"I don't have a boyfriend," I said, holding his gaze. "Or anyone who's anxious for the job."

"Well, someone is." His eyes crinkled as he smiled and nodded his chin at the pillow. "Thanks for letting me live vicariously. You have a great day, Paul."

He started to walk away.

"Hang on. What's your name?" I asked.

"Dan. Dan Partridge," he said, turning to face me and walking backwards for a few steps. "Bet you'll remember that."

"Bet I

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