No Peeking...

Lillian appeared at the door again. “Everything okay?”

“Fine,” Violet snapped, reaching for her calendar and a diversion. Feeling contrite, she forced a calming note into her voice. “Did anything materialize from the calls you returned yesterday?”

“One didn’t go anywhere, but the other two customers are supposed to stop by this afternoon to drop off gifts to be wrapped. I noticed all the paper and ribbon in the workroom,” she said, gesturing to the room behind her desk. “I have the price lists and I used to wrap gifts at Macy’s. I can take care of the packages and deliver them, too, if you want.”

Violet jotted notes, then stood and shrugged into her coat, already calculating how she could make it back in time to greet the customers herself. “I have to make a few pickups and deliveries this morning, as well as go by Ms. Kingsbury’s, and have lunch with my mother. But I should be back before two.”

“Is there anything I can do while you’re gone?” Lillian looked hopeful.

“No,” Violet said abruptly, then realized she was letting the tossed letter and the call with Dominick make her cranky. Neither situation was Lillian’s fault. She manufactured a smile as she swept through the door. “Just hold down the fort until I get back.”

“What if I happen to find the pink envelope you lost?”

Violet whirled around and leveled her gaze at the woman. “Burn it.”

4

JUGGLING HER COFFEE, her purse, the box of holiday decorations and the gifts, Violet unlocked her car door, her chest clicking with renewed annoyance at herself. She shouldn’t have opened the letter to begin with—it was causing her to get even more out of sorts than she usually did when she thought about Dominick. At least now that the letter was on its way to a landfill, she’d be able to forget the silly words she’d written back when she had been under the delusion that sex played a major role in a person’s life.

That might be true for other people. But since college, she’d come to the conclusion that she just wasn’t a sexual person, not like Nan, who made flirting look easy. Anytime a man talked to Violet, her practical mind skipped ahead to the inevitable disaster the relationship would become and her tongue would tie in knots. She didn’t stand a chance against the swarm of pretty, playful Southern girls that Atlanta had to offer up.

But she had her business, she reminded herself as she stopped to pick up and deliver dry cleaning at four different locations, selected twenty-five perfect poinsettias for a corporate holiday party and picked up six needlepoint stockings customized with the names of a client’s grandchildren.

Besides, she thought wryly while shopping for gourmet items on Ms. Kingsbury’s grocery list, she had more luck with the four-legged male types anyway. On impulse, Violet picked up a bag of treats for Winslow. Maybe if the dog ate more, he wouldn’t be so picky about where and when he did his business.

When she arrived at the gaily decorated brick home, the dog was waiting for her at the door with his leash in his mouth.

“He’s been sitting there all morning,” Ms. Kingsbury said. “I tried to take him out several times, but he wouldn’t go.”

Violet handed over the woman’s credit card from her “returns” shopping trip and set the bag of groceries on a table. “I’ll see what I can do. Is it okay if I give him a treat?”

“Whatever you like, dear. Sometimes I feel as if Winslow is more your dog than mine.”

After clicking the leash onto his collar, Violet retrieved a doggie treat from her pocket and let the popeyed Pekingese gobble it out of her hand. “Are you going to be a good boy today?”

He barked enthusiastically. Maybe she should take treats in her pocket the next time she went to a bar with Nan, Violet mused. On the short walk to the park, she called her friend to say goodbye before Nan left town.

“Nan Wellington.”

Violet could hear the clicking of a keyboard in the background. Nan was a staff writer for the Atlanta Journal-Constitution. “Are you busy?”

“Just counting the hours until I leave for Aruba,” Nan sang. “I wish you were going with me, but I know how much you’re looking forward to having Christmas with your folks.”

“Yes, I am.”

“You sound kind of down.”

“Don’t mind me, I’m just in a funk.”

“You’re never in a funk. What’s wrong?”

“Dominick Burns asked me to go with him to Miami over Christmas.”

The clicking stopped. “Are you kidding me?”

“He needed my help, of course. Strictly business.”

“Violet, tell me you said yes.”

“I can’t go, Nan. I’m swamped with clients, and I’m spending Christmas Eve with my folks, remember?”

“Oh, right. Well, can’t you come back early?”

“He offered. But that doesn’t help me take care of all the business I still have between now and then.”

“How many times do I have to tell you that’s what your new assistant is for!”

“I just don’t feel comfortable letting someone else take over.”

“Violet, I know you like to think that you have a special bond with your clients. But all they really want is to have things done for them, right?”

“Right,” Violet admitted.

“So you wouldn’t have hired this woman if she wasn’t qualified. Let her help you.”

“It’s not that simple,” Violet said. “I’ve been trying to delegate things to her, but because I’m not used to working with someone, there’s already been a mishap.”

“What kind of mishap?”

“I think she threw away a letter.”

“So call the sender and have them resend it. Mistakes happen, sweetie.”

“This was a personal letter. A handwritten letter.”

“From whom?” Nan asked, her voice brimming with curiosity.

“From…me. It was a letter I wrote to myself when I was in college.”

“Sounds cool. Did you find it in a yearbook or something?”

“No, the instructor sent it. The assignment was to write down your…thoughts. She promised to track us down and send the letter back to us ten years later.”

“To see how much things have changed?” Nan asked.

“Or not,” Violet murmured, realizing that for the first time, she was conceding she still entertained some of the fantasies she’d written about.

“What class was it for?”