It's a Date

Lanie

“Lanie Jacobs?”

The knock on my open office door drew my attention away from the computer screen, where I’d been looking up resources to help a student applying for weekend classes at community college.

“Yes?” My jaw dropped at the sight of the giant package the delivery man had leaning against the wall opposite the door. “I’m sorry. Who is this for?”

“For you. Sign here.” He handed me the little device, and I quickly signed my name.

With him gone, I stood in the hall and gaped at the long, thin package. Who would send something to me at school? And what could it possibly be?

Nearly shaking with excitement, I carefully ripped a corner of the brown paper. The edge of a black frame came into view. More delicate ripping and pink appeared.

“No,” I gasped.

But, yes. It was the painting from Saturday night. The one Andrew had also said he liked.

Noticing the little envelope taped to the far end of the frame, I ripped it open, unable to read fast enough.

Dear Lanie,

Thank you for