I’m not sure why the creamy color was called that. It seemed like a misnomer since there wasn’t even a hint of brown in it, but I’d always envied whoever it was who had the sweet job of naming the colors of paint or nail polish or lipstick. In another life, that would be my dream job. Imagine spending all day coming up with new and different names for all the shades of red that have nothing to do with the color red, like I Can’t Even, which could be an orange red or Sorry Not Sorry, a bluish red. Those were my favorite reds, the blue-toned ones.

Shaking off my contemplation of color hues and their names, I strode to the kitchen to make my coffee. Once I had frothed the milk and poured in the coffee, I decided to take my cup out to the front of my house to enjoy the sounds of the birds chirping, the crisp breeze, and the warm sun. I would have sat on the back patio, but I was overly conscious of the fact that I could be seen from the big house, and having been chastised about the hot tub, I didn’t really want to put myself out there in my morning attire, which was not the stuff of runways. Heck, it wasn’t even fit for an emergency grocery run.

I opened the front door and stopped short. Taped across both doors was another envelope. So this was going to be a fun Saturday.

I wondered if it had been Jackson who’d stuck it there. I seriously doubted it was Mr. Daire himself. I snagged the note and sat on the top step, letting the sun heat my shoulders while pondering the sealed missive. Like the others, it was business-size, white, with my name, Ms. Martin, written in the same blocky, exacting handwriting.

Had I taken my trash to the curb? Yes. Had I brought the bin back up? Yes. Had I used the pool or the hot tub? No. I tried to remember the list of rules. As far as I could remember, I hadn’t broken any of them. Heck, I hadn’t even been here much as I’d put in long days all week, getting acclimated to office life and such.

I sipped my coffee then tapped my chin with the envelope. To open or not to open, that was the question. Whether ’tis nobler in the mind to suffer the slings and arrows of my anxiety or open the damned thing and remove all doubt. Shakespeare would be proud, I know.

I decided to go with removing all doubt and opened the letter. It was one sheet, neatly folded into thirds. I snapped it open and read.