Page 9 of The Package
“Shit. Can I take the offer back then so I can hear the bribe?” I laugh, suddenly having the feeling that things might just work out. Suddenly wanting them to.
“No. You can’t . . . but, you’ll have my undying appreciation . . . and a little more understanding next time.”
“Next time?” Hope bubbles up.
“Yes. Next time.” His smile is soft and sincere. “You called and let me know about the accident and that you were going to be late. . . . I took my stress out on you.”
“You did.”
Our eyes hold as regret flashes through his. “I’m sorry, Jules. I overreacted.”
“Thank you. Do you have the package so I can run it upstairs?” I ask.
He reaches out and hands a parcel to me. “Not upstairs. Mr. McMasters is gone for rest of the week. Let’s see where it needs to go . . .” He looks down to his clipboard scribbled with a bunch of notes. “This needs to go to Tavern on th
e Green.”
“Of course it does.” I laugh because it’s all I can do. The one place I wanted Alex to take me on Christmas Eve, and I’m going to end up going there simply as a mail girl delivering a package. Perfect.
“Your check, Jules.” Barney places my check on top of the package as he slides it across the counter. “And we’ll see you back here next week, same hours, same schedule.”
“Really?”
“Really. Merry Christmas, Jules.”
“Merry Christmas, Barney.”
The subway uptown is a nightmare. Last minute shoppers pack into the car and the buzz of excitement is as prevalent in the air as the crisp coldness that owns it.
Pulling my coat tightly around me, I take my time walking through Central Park. I listen to the noises of the city at my back and watch the first few flakes of snow flit down as the door to the restaurant is opened for me.
It’s just like I imagined it would look like inside—like an explosion of Christmas decorations. Trees decorated to the hilt and décor strewn about all mixed with the rich scent of food and the low hum of talking.
The host smiles at me despite the fact that I’m nowhere near dressed nicely enough to be eating here on tonight of all nights.
“Welcome to Tavern on the Green. How may I help you?”
“Hi.” I pull the package out from beneath my coat where I was protecting it from the weather. “I have to deliver a package to a guest, Archer McMasters.”
“Ah, yes. Ms. Jilliland? He did tell me you’d be coming. Right this way.”
I nod and follow behind him, my eyes taking in everything around me. Hoping to catch a glimpse of a famous face because I’ve convinced myself that celebrities come here, but don’t see any.
The host turns a corner to a small room where a table sits by itself near a crackling fireplace. A small Christmas tree is in the corner, the silver bulbs reflecting the flames. Two chairs sit at the table. One empty. One occupied, the back of a man to me.
“Mr. McMasters?”
“Hmm?”
“Ms. Jilliland for you.”
“Great. Lovely.”
And that voice.
I know that voice.
My feet freeze in place as I realize who it is.
