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Pete sat in his government-issued minivan and practiced his breathing. Inhale, then exhale. Inhale, then exhale. He paused to sputter and cough when a trickle of saliva had gone down the wrong pipe, ruining the slight composure he had built.
Oh God, he couldn’t do this.
“I have to,” he mumbled to himself, peeking at his reflection in his side mirror. His white pocket cap was adjusted, the ‘USPS’ logo like a blemish he couldn’t get rid of. The cap sat on a mess of dark hair that he forcibly scrunched to one side. He tucked a good amount of it behind his ear and prayed that it wouldn’t spring back to the middle of his forehead.
Twisting in the driver’s seat, he undid his seatbelt and gathered a bundle of mail. He double-checked that everything had the correct address and business name, Butterscotch Bakery, before he stepped out of the van. He also brought along his mailbag, though it wasn’t filled with much. He normally would be carrying the mail for the entire block when he made this stop, but it was the holiday season and he didn’t want to risk his mailbag being extra heavy and weighing him down. It made him look silly, in his opinion. He couldn’t afford to further his potential unattractiveness to his already-awful combo of a raggedy windbreaker, cargo shorts, and the world’s oldest pair of waterproof hiking boots. His work uniform sucked.
There was one upside to having so many pockets and nooks on his person - he could hide almost anything without seeming suspicious. And today he was hiding something particularly special.
Ding, ding!
The little bell above the door signaled his entrance, its chime nearly lost in the merry socializing of the bakery’s seating area. From the front counter, a young lady called out to him with her neck craned over the register.
“Oh, Peter! There you are! We were wondering if you had stolen our bills and decided to pay them, hahaha,” Allison greeted him with as she beckoned him toward the counter. Despite being only a part-time worker, she knew everyone who frequented the bakery. She grinned and tucked her hands into the sides of her apron. “Whatcha got for us today? Did our Bon Appetit magazine come in?”
Pete was sympathetic, “No magazines, sorry. I just have a bit of junk mail and I think an invite to next year’s big spring bake-off. Good thing they’re sending ‘em out early this year! Anyway, I.. Where’s..?”
“Where’s..?” Allison was confused, her forehead wrinkling.
“Is, is Patrick in today?”
“Mr. Stump? Oh, yeah, of course he is!”
Pete visibly brightened and moved to counter, laying out the mail on the glass display case. The assortment of festive pastries in the display case were meticulously crafted and surely tasted delightful. He typically picked up a macaron or two every Saturday (for him to eat on his following day off) and had lately been buying extra items during the week. This was due to Allison’s upselling, and the fact that she had mentioned Patrick being the mastermind behind the tasty treats.
“Here,” Allison said, collecting the mail, “let me grab him for you. I’m sure he has a second.”
“Well, I mean, if he’s busy then don’t worry about it. It’s not a big deal,” Pete said, attempting to sound casual. He squirmed internally, the building’s pastel decor doing almost nothing to calm his nerves.
Allison, spinning around on her heel, waved him off and trotted to the doorway behind the counter that led to the kitchen area. The register was vacant once she had bounced away, and it was right then that a pair of customers lined up behind Pete.
He clutched at the strap of his mailbag.
What could have been an eternity later, a handsome man in his late 20’s rounded the corner that blocked off most of the kitchen. He wiped his hands, strong and coated with flour, on the towel tucked on the side of his apron. When he raised his head to greet whoever was at the counter, he was beaming with a distinct expression of familiar happiness. His scruffy beard helped to hide his blushing cheeks, his glasses perched on the edge of his nose. The clear frames caught the light in a way that caused his skin to shine underneath. He put his hands on his hips, either ignoring or not caring about how he was abruptly the center of someone’s world.
“Hi, Patrick,” Pete said, still gripping his mailbag strap for dear life. “I, I have some news from the post office about that change of address you requested. I need you to sign a few papers, nothing major.”
“Great, I’ve been waiting on that for weeks now. I’m tired of having to use that P.O. box,” Patrick said. He motioned for Allison to help the next customers and beckoned for Pete to avoid the oncoming foot traffic.
“Sorry it’s taken so long. We get so busy during the holidays,” Pete apologized after following Patrick to the end of the pastry case.
“It’s not your fault, I know that. You’re the best mailmen we’ve ever had.”
“Ah, really? Thanks, you’re too kind.”
Worried he might say something stupid in the momentary dead air, Pete opened his mailbag’s main pocket and took out the forms Patrick had requested. Additionally, he passed him a pen. Their fingertips brushed against one another’s hands during this exchange, and he felt his palms become damp with sweat.
“You folks sure are busy today,” Pete commented as he watched Patrick sign the forms. He kept his eyes lowered, and racked his brain for anything other than small talk.
Patrick scribbled along the papers, the pen’s smoothness matching his voice, “It can’t be helped, since it’s Christmas Eve Eve.”
“Christmas Eve.. Eve?”
“It’s the 23rd, the day before Christmas Eve,” Patrick chuckled, glancing upward with a bat of his eyelashes. “Get it?”
“Oops, I’m an idiot,” Pete mumbled.
“Nah, you’re fine.”
With no response, Pete waited for Patrick to finish. He rocked on his heels and swayed in the direction of the register, perusing the adorable baskets of holiday goodies that were lined up on the shelves.
“Can I get you something?” Patrick asked, completing the final section of the forms.
“Wha--? No, it’s okay, I’ll have Allison get it for me,” Pete answered. He sheepishly met Patrick’s gaze, and was surprised to see how intense he appeared.
“Let me get you something, Pete. It’s on the house, too.”
“I’ll, wow, that’s generous. I appreciate it.”
“Mmhm,” Patrick hummed. He slid the finished paperwork and pen to Pete. With his hands no longer occupied, he cupped his chin with his right and folded his left underneath, effectively propping himself up. “So? What can I get you?”
Pete subtly took in the sight of Patrick’s backside jutting out in his new position, swallowing, “The cookies. The shortbread, yeah.”
“Frosting or no frosting?”
“Frosting.”
“How many?”
“As many as you feel I deserve, Patrick.”
Patrick’s lips twitched and he straightened his posture. He moved to the display case and began to fill a to-go box with a chocolate croissant, a mini spiced pear pie, and at least five frosted shortbread cookies. While he worked, he disregarded Pete’s protests and didn’t speak until the box was filled. He folded it shut, the cardboard flaps fitting neatly into place.
“Thanks,” Pete said, accepting the box. His grip was a bit too tight, causing it to crinkle in certain spots.
“I figure you deserve that much. You’re working hard out there,” Patrick agreed.
“Someone’s got to do it. We can’t all have cushy indoor jobs.”
They shared a laugh. They soon were cut short by an influx of people creating a line at the counter, and Allison began to scramble in managing both the transactions and preparing orders. She floundered for a minute before Patrick stepped in to let her know that he would get the situation under control.
“I’ll see you tomorrow, right?” Patrick called, his volume raised to compete with the customers’ babblings. “Mail gets delivered on Christmas Eve?”
“Yep! I’ll see you then! Thanks again for the cookies and stuff,” Pete hollered. He saw Patrick smile in acknowledgment, although it was difficult to tell if he had actually heard him. Yikes, this place gets packed fast. His face fell, especially upon realizing that he hadn’t given Patrick the gift he had specifically smuggled in for him. “Oh, wait a second, I--”
The line had lengthened with another two families walking inside. Patrick and Allison were blurs of friendly service and baked goods. It would be too much of a nuisance to interrupt them, plus he had route to keep.
All right. He would catch him tomorrow.
---
“Can’t say I’m not happy to see you,” Pete said, grateful that he didn’t have to wear his uniform’s pocket cap indoors. “Do you always come here to drop off packages? This location is out of the way for most people.”
“No, I’m not normally out here. But I stopped in because I was on the east side of the city running errands,” Patrick lied. He had absolutely gone out of his way to visit Pete at his assigned post office.
And how did he know where to go? No less than a week ago, he had called the number on Pete’s USPS truck to give him a compliment. After doing so, he was thanked for his time and told that the compliment would be anonymously relayed to Pete and his branch location. The nice lady on the phone had even provided him directions and a reminder of their holiday hours.
“Errands? Oh, are you doing last minute Christmas shopping?” Pete blinked, leaning in as if they were keeping a secret.
Patrick mirrored Pete’s body language, “Something like that. You’re my first stop for the day.”
Without thinking, Pete turned around to catch a glimpse of the clock mounted on the wall behind him. It was barely eleven in the morning. He wondered whether or not he would be seeing Patrick at the bakery today. After missing his chance to offer his gift to Patrick yesterday, he had been counting on getting it done today. He wanted to do it before Christmas came, otherwise he was worried it wouldn’t be the same. This time of year had a certain air of romance that he wanted to take advantage of. His gift was truly from the heart, and was going to be accompanied by a confession of his feelings for Patrick.
Pete cursed the circumstances of him stuck on the job. Being clocked in, he couldn’t spontaneously run out to his car and grab the gift he had failed to give Patrick yesterday. He had to stay put. He had another hour prior to starting his usual mail route. Plus, he couldn’t blame himself for not bringing it inside with him, either. How was he supposed to guess that he would have a surprise visitor? He had no one to pin the fault on aside from plain old fate. Damn, what a joke.
He shook off his thoughts when Patrick began to speak again. Regardless of his concentrated efforts, a sense of focus didn’t come easily. The window parallel to them had its blinds open, creating a view of the parking lot. This caused him to be partially distracted by Patrick’s lovely, strawberry blonde hair glowing in the cold winter sun. He bit his bottom lip.
“This is what I need to send out,” Patrick said, heaving up the stack of packages he had previously placed on the ground. There were four in total, and they were neatly arranged from largest to smallest. He scooted them into Pete’s hold.
Pete accepted them, examining the handwritten labels Patrick had taped onto them. He foolishly concluded that they had the same destination and asked, “Are these all going to Chicago, then?”
“You got it. Actually, the top one is local. Other than that, they’re off to the great state of Illinois,” Patrick affirmed.
“Okay. And I’m sure you’re aware these won’t make it to their destination for a couple of days?”
“I’m aware, I told my family that their presents were going to be late, they can deal with it.”
“Haha, I’m glad you understand the delay - I can’t tell you how many folks come in a couple days before Christmas and demand cheap express shipping across the country,” Pete said, rolling his eyes slightly.
“To quote my mother, ‘Poor planning on your part does not constitute an emergency on my part’,” Patrick said with his arms folded over his fuzzy sweater.
“Exactly!”
“Ooh, Pete, I can definitely tell that you work with the general public.”
“Yeah, ya think?”
Patrick smirked, “We don’t get enough pity. I used to always tell Rory that, but he would never listen.”
“Rory was your.. ex, wasn’t he?” Pete feigned difficulty in acknowledging exactly who Rory was. Yet in his mind, he could perfectly picture the tall, obnoxious guy that Patrick had been dating for the better part of last year. He used to hate how Rory would talk over him whenever he would come in to deliver the mail. “I don’t blame him for not understanding how tough it can be working with the public. You have to experience it firsthand.”
“His uppity lawyer ass wouldn’t last a day at our jobs.”
“Haha, if you say so!”
“It’s a fact, plain and simple. You and I are cut from a different cloth, we go together!”
Thrilled by what he heard, Pete allowed himself an inward cheer of excitement.
With several other employees manning the counters, Pete and Patrick were able to chit chat for a solid chunk of time. They grumbled about the oncoming snowstorm and squealed over how fantastic the new Star Wars movie was. It was quite the enjoyable conversation. However, it was eventually broken up by one of Pete’s superiors clearing his throat in distaste. The older man had noticed the growing number of people behind Patrick.
“I’ll talk to you later, okay?” Pete said in a hushed tone. He regathered the stack of packages, and pulled them close. “I’ll be by around three.”
“I’ll try and be back before you’re there,” Patrick said. A single step away from the service counter was taken. He hesitated, his mouth opening and closing.
“See ya then!” Pete chirped, beckoning the next customer forward.
“Yeah. Hey, Pete?”
Pausing, Pete faced Patrick. The armful of packages he had been in the process of moving were placed on the sorting table behind him. He waited for Patrick to continue, the hairs of his neck and arms prickling with goosebumps
“.. Merry Christmas Eve.” Patrick gave a brief nod and headed for the door. Over his shoulder, he advised, “Don’t work too hard.”
“You, too,” Pete replied. Full of wishful thinking, he watched him go.
---
Standing outside of Butterscotch Bakery, Pete knocked his head against the glass of the front door. In his hands was Patrick’s gift, wrapped in thin brown parcel paper and frozen in his grip. He sighed, the sign above the door handles claiming that they were closed for both Christmas Day and the day after.
Today was the 26th. He had been so sure that it would be open today.
“What a mess,” Pete lamented. “This is what I get for not talking to him sooner.”
He had completed his usual route yesterday, only to be told by Allison that Patrick hadn’t returned from his errands by the time he reached the bakery. Troubled by this news and not wanting to show it, he had shrugged it off as a minor inconvenience. He then went on to pace around the block, delivering the remainder of his mail. Eventually he popped in for a second time about a half hour later to find that Patrick still hadn’t returned. His Christmas Eve mood was significantly dampered, the night he spent with his friends and family less cheery than he had anticipated. He felt lonely.
He had screwed this up.
Crushed, Pete retreated back to his car. He had about two hours before he needed to be at work, and he calculated that he could squeeze in a quick nap at his apartment a few streets down. His trudging came to a halt when he finally bothered to raise his head. There was someone waiting for him, pleased to interrupt his pity party.
“Patrick--” Pete’s jaw went slack, cutting himself short. He blinked in shock, unable to believe what he was seeing.
From where Patrick stood at the curbside, a few feet from Pete’s car, he smiled. The scarf wrapped around his neck was long and woolen, its fringes almost dusting the ground. When he moved toward Pete, the scarf trickled behind him and gave a boost of confident elegance to cover his shy demeanor.
“What’reyoudoinghere?” Pete blurted, his surprise refusing to lift. He pressed the gift securely to his chest.
“Heh, last I checked, I own this place,” Patrick said candidly. “At least, that’s what I file on my taxes.”
“Ah, right.”
Patrick went on, “My cousins are in town and I figured I’d be a hero and steal us a pie or two. I didn’t feel like baking at home, and I know we have a couple extra pies lying around in there.”
“That’s nice of you,” Pete said, having no idea what to add. He fidgeted, pretending to be interested in the foggy sky.
“Were you stopping by hoping to grab some macarons?”
“No. I, well, I have something for you.”
“You do?”
Pete cinched the gap between them, pushing the gift into a startled pair of hands. He tried not to linger as they touched, though he couldn’t help himself. The warmth he found in Patrick was captivating. A simple dose of body heat from the person he craved the most was more than enough to lift his spirits. It was such a pleasant experience, he damn near forgot to explain what he was doing.
“What is it? For me?” Patrick took the gift, his fingers grazing over the single strand of red ribbon that held it together. “Can I open it?”
“Yeah, ‘course you can open it,” Pete told him. He was enamored by the positive reaction, his expectations for this moment being met in every way.
“I feel spoiled, I thought my present was my chance to see you outside of your uniform,” Patrick teased, gesturing toward Pete and his current outfit. “But it looks like I made it on Santa’s ‘Nice’ list this year.”
“C’mon, you’re embarrassing me,” Pete said, both flattered and self-conscious about his street clothes. He suddenly had some regret for not wearing the matching plaid mittens and beanie his sister had given him yesterday.
Patrick carefully tore at the parcel paper, revealing what was waiting for him, “Sorry, didn’t mean to make you blush.. Pete, this is-- Amazing! Just what I needed!”
“I was hoping you’d say that. I really, I really like you and wanted to get you something for Christmas.”
He held his gift up and admired it in full. Sealed in a protective plastic case, it was a set of address labels. The labels were adorned with golden swirls along the borders, a slice of cake perched above the lettering. The font was ornate, yet subdued, allowing for the bakery’s name and location to be read with ease. It was a gorgeous, welcomed change from having to write everything by hand anytime he had to send out a business reply.
Best of all, it had been made especially for him.
“Thank you,” Patrick chimed, his gift held with care as he arched and pecked Pete’s cheek. He pulled away slowly and held back on further expressions of his gratitude. For now, anyway. “You’re so sweet. I like you, too.”
Pete had to pat his cheek, in the exact spot where Patrick’s lips had been, in order to steady himself, “You’re welcome. I, I’m glad you like it. I put your new forwarding address on there, did you see that? No more lame P.O. box.”
“I know! Seriously, thank you. Did you get this for me after you opened my gift?”
“Huh?”
“The gift I left for you at the post office.”
Pete didn’t have a clue as to what Patrick was talking about. He remembered the stack of packages that had been brought into the post office the other day. Patrick had mentioned that they were Chicago-bound, hadn’t he? No, wait, there was one that was meant to be a local delivery. After they chatted at his workstation, he had moved everything to the sorting table, which he was fairly certain had been taken over by one of his superiors. Uh oh! His pupils dilated with worry and he hurriedly explained what had happened.
“You goofball,” Patrick laughed. He walked to the bakery’s front doors, his keys taken from his jacket pocket to unlock them. “I suppose you’ll have to wait until it comes in the mail, hm?”
“Aw, you can’t just tell me what it is?” Pete whined, trailing him and absolutely giddy.
“Nope, you have to wait. But I can let you inside with me and give you a few sugar cookies for the road.”
“Okay. Extra sugar on those?”
Pushing the door open and taking Pete by the hand, Patrick promised, “Absolutely. C’mere, I’ll show you.”