I sit up as the door creaks open. She hands me a brown-paper-wrapped package.
“I didn’t order anything,” I murmur.
She shrugs. “Your daddy and I are leaving soon for Grandma’s. We’ll be back late tonight. You need anything before we go?”
I shake my head. “Nope. I’m good.”
She smiles and disappears, and I’m left holding the package in both hands, heart kicking. No name on the outside. Just my address in tidy black ink.
I open it slowly.
It’s a book.
The Alchemist.
I blink.
There’s a sticky note tucked inside the front cover, written in that familiar, blocky scrawl I’ve come to know.
“For when you forget what you’re made of. You’re a dreamer, Faith. You were never meant to stay caged. – T”
That’s it.
Just one short message.
But a tear starts to roll down my cheek anyway.
I swipe at my cheeks, toss on a hoodie, and grab my phone. I sit back on the bed, legs crossed, and type quickly.
Faith: That book. The note. I wasn’t expecting that.
A pause. The bubbles appear, then vanish. Reappear.
Finally his text comes through.
Hunter: Thought we were keeping things professional. Boundaries and all that. This seems more friendly. Like we used to chat.
Faith: We’re friends. So I’m saying thank you.
Hunter: You sound like you’re about to violate some HR guidelines.
Faith: Maybe I am. Or maybe I’m home alone. For the rest of the day. And maybe I was wondering if my fantasy man wanted to stop by and bring a few more surprises. I know we said after work, but we’ve got some time before shift, right?
A slow beat passes. I watch the dots form, stop, and reform several times.
Hunter: Did you find the surprise in the middle of the book?
I thumb through the crisp pages, still wiping at my eyes like some soft-hearted Hallmark character.
And then something slips out.
Lacy. Scarlet. Tiny.
Oh my God.
I blink down at what’s now draped across my lap: a pair ofblue lace panties. No bra. Just the panties.
Of course.
