#briefcases

He leans in close and bats his eyelids. Is it true love, then, sweetheart?

I throw my head back and laugh. Oh yes, I’ve just fallen madly in love with the half-colored-in sillouette of the man who’s strolling through my drywall like he owns the place. Terribly attractive, that.

When he holds up his briefcase—the one that’s been glowing in the candlelight—he’s still smiling. Fantastic. I’ll keep that in mind the next time I need to do a drop.

It’s time for business. I beckon, and he pushes the case through the walls, careful to keep his hands inside his layer of space. I don’t touch the briefcase even after it’s sitting on the floor of my room.

What is it? I ask. I almost want to run my hands across the smooth leather of it, but I’m afraid to do so just yet.

The final piece of the story. He sounds serious, but then he grins and tips his hat. Good luck!