Chapter 3
The calendar went from mid-December to “One week until Christmas!” in the blink of an eye. I realized I was already more than halfway done with the Twelve Days song—my personal version with thirteen—as I entered the Brockman, Pointe, Weller, and Phipps building with an armload of packages and one in my pocket, gift number eight for Angel.
“Hey, hon.” Becca’s smile was warm and welcoming, totally incongruent to the gray and black décor around her. The outer office space hadn’t been jazzed up much for the holidays. The only sign of Christmas was a string of tiny white lights stretched across the big bookcase. No silver and gold, no boughs of holly, no red poinsettia to break things up a little, even Becca’s sweater was gray. Thinking back to Angel’s suit and tie, I finally had to
