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DEAR JAMES #5

Previous Chapter

summary: bucky founds a letter in his desk. Who is the mistery woman behind them?

pairing: congressman!bucky x fem!reader.

warnings: None. Pure fluff!

a/n: I've been typing like a maniac. Need to get this out of my chest. Just one more chapter to go (maybe an extra bonus one. Who knows?) Thank you for reading. It means the world.

@pampi-iranzo

When Bucky woke up that morning he sensed something was off. It all started when the alarm on his phone didn’t ring making him late for picking up his suit for the Gala. He got a coffee on his way to the tailor. It was cold and overly sweet. Then there was a big misunderstanding and he ended up with a tuxedo instead of the dark blue suit he had chosen. When he was waiting for his lunch some idiot tripped and spill an entire can of soda on him. Of course his favorite leather jacket was ruined. If he’d be the kind of guy to believe in the universe or that kind of stuff he surely have thought there was a higher force trying to tell him something. Even the car that was going to take him to the gala arrived an hour late. But he was an stubborn man, and nothing was going to stop him. He had a plan and he was going to execute it no matter what. Was the plan kind of naive? Or maybe even worse, just borderline delusional? Perhaps. But it was the best he got. And he wasn’t one to back up from a challenge.

Valentina was for sure a terrible person but certainly she knew how to threw a party. The whole place looked like a winter wonderland extravaganza. Everything was white and silver, fairy lights in every corner, chandeliers illuminated the tables and the most exquisite crystal snowflakes hanged from the ceiling covering the majority of the dance floor. If these wasn’t an special occasion he’d have definitively felt intimidated by the paraphernalia of it all. But tonight he was a man on a mission.

The first task of the night was getting all the political business out of the way. He did the same old boring rounds he usually did in these kind of events. It usually consisted of tons of dreadful conversations with the archaic members of the Congress and a lot of ass kissing. If ass kissing was a sport, he would be an Olympic athlete by now. After all he was the “new kid” in town and he needed all the help he could get. He wasn’t a soldier on the battlefield anymore, but the way the world worked was quite similar to it. Alliances were needed to be form if he wanted to push his agenda. Diplomacy wasn’t his strong suit, he was more of a “hands on” kind of guy, but he followed the Washington way in order to get things done.

What happened next unfolded extremely fast, but at the same time, Bucky felt everything around him moving in slow motion. Stacy, one of the interns, had asked him to dance in a very sweet , and at the same time,very awkward way. He found it almost endearing.He said yes because he didn’t want to be unkind. She was far too young, though everyone was too young compare to his sweet 106 years old. Probably she had a silly crush on him. Just an innocent infatuation that sure was going to be over in no time. There was no way she could be his mystery woman. She sounded like an old soul. She had seen things and probably lost things just like him. And it took courage to love despite everything.

And just like that, it all clicked, the pieces of the puzzle just coincided. He looked up and there you were, his chief of staff, walking down the stairs. You had a dark blue long satin dress, high waist and v neck, accentuating all the right places and hugging every curve you had. You choose silver sky high stilettos to go with your dress. You wore your hair up, in the most delicate up do, soft waves framing your face. And the finishing touch were your cherry red lips. You would had made Audrey Hepburn very proud.

The world stopped for a minute. For god sake, it might have shift on its axis. You were so breathtakingly beautiful. How on earth he didn’t see it before? Was he so oblivious to not notice you?You were indeed hidden at plain sight. All the signs were there.

You were one of the smartest person he ever met. He remembered thinking you were deranged for taking the job. He was so inexperienced and it was dumb luck he even got elected. A Stanford alumni, graduated top of your class, you could have worked anywhere you wanted. You were tough, you couldn’t have survived Washington If you weren’t, but you lead with a quiet determination. Everyone in the office followed you, no out of fear but out of respect.

He should have recognized you in the little things. The way you always smiled at him when he entered a room. Your patience and your sweet manners while you explained to him the most boring stuff about the legislative work. So many times he walked out of a meeting annoyed and frustrated leaving you to deal with everything. But you’ve never complaint. You always looked at him with understanding. You never pushed him too hard, knowing exactly where his boundaries laid. You were always the one who would bring cake to celebrate birthdays. Now he knew you’d probably bake them yourself. You’d always bring him coffee before a meeting, you’ve learn exactly how he took it. It wasn’t your job, but you did it anyway. When you stayed on the office way past your hours, which was pretty often, you’d be always listening to music on your Air Pods. There was no doubt which sweet tunes you have been softly humming to yourself.

As you were walking down the stairs, your eyes met, briefly, almost imperceptible. He could see something flickering in your eyes. Then you stopped mid way, and took a deep breath, hurt and disappointment written in your face . It lasted only for a couple of seconds, then your mask was back on, he could tell you were putting a hell of an effort in hiding your feelings. You adjust your dress and carried on like nothing happened, looking all confident and unaffected, like you always did. What the hell? Then it hit him, howthe whole situation may have looked like from the outside. He was dancing with a beautiful girl and he never danced with anyone in these kind of events. He never dance, ever. For him it was all about efficiency, engage conversation with a few people, the ones that were absolute necessary, exchange some pleasantries and then he was gone. His social battery always seemed to run low when it came to Washington scene.

He could fix this. It was just a misunderstanding. He could go after you and just explain. He was about to excuse himself when Mrs. De Fontaine materialized in front of him and asked for the next dance. He wanted to say no but it would have been pointless, she was relentless and always got her way. He took his eyes out of you for just a second and the next thing he knew you were gone. Vanish into thin air. He cursed himself for not telling Valentina to fuck off. You were far more important than any political plot. He knew you would have scold him for not taking advantage of the situation and try to win some leverage. He could almost hear you say “You’re quiet charming when you put your head on it Congressman.” He wasn’t quite sure about that, but he has every intention to test that theory on you.

He searched high and low, he scanned every damn room of the party venue but the was no sight of you. You couldn’t have left, could you? When he was about to just text you and put an end to his misery he ran into Sarah. When he asked her about you, in a totally professional casual way, not like a man about to lose it, she told him you weren’t feeling well and that you left early.

He had hurt you. Not intentionally. But he felt like an idiot for being so blind. He have been so lost, so caught up on the past that he never let himself dreamed of a future. He didn’t even believe he deserved one. But you seemed to believe it. And that alone gave him faith. Now that you’ve lifted the curtain, and left him to confront all the feelings he had been simply ignoring out of fear, he knew he would not be able to find answers without you. He was going to make it right. No more hesitation. You weren’t going to become “the one that got away”.

Letter #5

Dear James:

They say all good things must come to an end so I guess it’s time to say goodbye. It’s been a lovely dream but I can’t live in a fantasy anymore. It’s tempting, but it’s the grown up thing to do.

I don’t know who was I kidding? I think mostly myself. My life is not a ROM-COM. I wore the dress, did my make up, but I’m not Sabrina, nothing really changed. I think it’s for the best that you’ve never found out who I am. You’ d have never looked at me the same way and it would have killed me. At least you still respect me as a professional.

I saw you at the Gala. You were dancing and smiling. I’m glad you took my advice. It makes me happy to see you happy. And I mean it, truly, sincerely. You do deserve a happy ending, even if it doesn’t include me.

You made me come out of hiding, made me bold enough to dare to dream, gave me a reason to smile every single morning. Thank you James. It meant the world to me.

You’d still be the one I dream of every night.

Yours forever,

XXX

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No habría llegado a los 100 «Me gusta» sin vuestra ayuda. ¡Gracias por este sueño!

I can't believe it! Thank you so much! Sending so much love to all of you who been following "Dear James".

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DEAR JAMES #4

Previous chapter

summary: bucky founds a letter in his desk. Who is the mistery woman behind them?

pairing: congressman!bucky x fem!reader.

warnings: None. Pure fluff!

a/n: I meant to publish sooner but life got in the way. I think two, maybe three chapters left. The jury is still deciding.

@pampi-iranzo

#LETTER 4

Dear James:

You are not playing fair. I’m trying to be cool, to carry myself with grace and dignity. I have a job to do you know? Are you trying to kill me? My heart doesn’t stand a chance, how I’m going to survive you and your sweet gestures. I almost dropped everything right on the spot and ran to your office. Now I can’t stop thinking how it would feel to slow dance with you, to be in your arms, impossibly close, you whispering sweet nothings on my ear. Just you and me. The world could collapse and I wouldn’t care as long you keep holding me.

Although is so tempting to get caught in the fantasy I force myself to get back in the real world. Probably if you’ve have to choose it wouldn’t be me who you’d pick.

One of my all time favorite movies is “Sabrina”, not just because I love Audrey Hepburn, God I’d love to have half of her poise. The thing is, at first, Sabrina was kind of invisible, always hidden at plain sight, just observing everything from the sidelines. And then she travels to Paris, and ends in a self-discovery journey . She gets new clothes, new haircut and most important a new attitude. When she comes back she is no longer acting all shy and coy , she is now the protagonist of her life and everybody seems to notice her.And guess what? She ends falling in love with Linus, the older, grumpy but handsome leading man. Rings a bell? The point is, I’d give everything for you to notice me in that way, for you to see me in a new light, as someone beautiful and confident, someone you can’t get your eyes out of.I guess in real life I’d need more that a new haircut and a new dress to accomplish that.

At the end of the day what scare me the most is to be vulnerable. To let you see the real me, not the professional “ready to take on Washington” me or the “i really don’t need anyone” me. Me, who sometimes feel so lonely even if I’m is surrounded by a multitude, me who cries in the bathroom when some idiot make me feel I’m not tough enough for Congress standards, me that really needs someone to fix my kitchen sink but really doesn’t know how to ask for help, that bakes too many cookies and ends up giving them away to my neighbors.

I know the kindness in your eyes. I know you wouldn’t hurt me. Not on purpose anyway. But to take that leap of faith, to let you in and give you the power to hurt me, that terrifies me. Its been so long since the last time I felt this way, perhaps I’ve never feel this way before, not this raw, not this deep, not so undeniably smitten to be writing love letters every night. And somehow I keep writing them because in some unconscious level I believe you understand me. We both crave for intimacy but we are not quite sure how to let go and embrace tenderness.

I see the way you look at Sarah when she gets lunch for you, or when someone takes time to explain you the machinery behind law making, even when some of the interns fetch you coffee. The wonder in your eyes, like that small acts of kindness surprise you every time. We all deserve to be taken care of James. Wish I could give you that, hope it’s what I give you with every letter.

You deserve softness. Please never forget.

Yours,

XXX

He woke up that Friday to a sense of hopefulness he had not felt in decades. The night before his dreams had been peaceful, full of vibrant colors and soft music. There was no darkness because you were sunshine illuminating every corner of his existence with your words.He knew he would find a letter, and that fact alone made his heart skipped a beat.

The moment he arrived in the building he sensed something shifting in the air. Everybody keep looking at him like he gone mad. Probably because there was no actual record of him smiling like that, ever, but he couldn’t help it. Grumpy broody mysterious Super Soldier was gone, hello semi friendly, almost happy Congressman Barnes. That was the effect you had in him. What was next? Serenade in your window? Reciting love sonnets in the building staircase? Nothing seemed so far- fetched to him anymore. All bets were on. He would do whatever it takes to win your heart.

Bucky found your last letter particularly endearing. He could see your hesitation, your fear and the places where the world hurt you and you wanted to hide , but also your sincerity and your admirable ability to love. When he closed his eyes, he could almost see you, a silhouette, baking in your kitchen, humming an old tune, like a siren sing, so inviting. How he could resist? You wanted to take care of him, well “right back at you sweetheart” he thought.

He loved every piece of information you were sharing: your favorite movie (You did said you were a hopeless romantic), your love for baking ( He could smell vanilla and cinnamon in the air), you secretly hiding in the bathroom to cry (That almost destroy him. He was an ex assassin after all, he could take care of these idiots) and even the fact that your kitchen sink was useless (He could fix that for you). But he craved for more, he wanted all of you, all of your versions.He needed to solve the riddle, connect the dots sort of speaking. He couldn’t help felling that, just like you said, you were hidden at plain sight. That the truth was painfully looking him straight in the eyes but he was too blind to see.

He needed to come up with an strategy. His efforts were not unnoticed by you, but you still didn’t trust him enough to reveal yourself to him. All sort of crazy impossible plans danced around his head. Hacking everyone Spotify’s pages and look for Etta James in their libraries, maybe into their computers to see if they have watched “Sabrina” lately. Maybe go through his staff lunch boxes to see if one of them brought home made cookies. No of them seem very tactical. He was losing the touch. You’d think he could put all his battlefield experience at good use but good ideas seemed to be painfully elusive.

On his way home he bought two copies of “Sabrina”, the Audrey Hepburn and the Julia Ormond version,just in case, figured you probably loved both, and he needed a bit of inspiration to crack the case. He called it “Operation Heart Stealing” in his mind. He thought Sam would have felt of a chair laughing if he ever heard him saying that out loud. Probably he’d call him “Sargent Softie” or some other stupid nickname.

An idea popped into his head that night while he was watching “Sabrina”. He was supposed to attend Valentina Allegra de Fontaine big charity gala that Saturday. The idea of such event filled him with nothing but dread, but maybe it was a possibility to make you step into the light. In a very Cinderella type of scenario, he would ask every female member of his staff to dance, and he would ask them specific questions that could give mystery girl away. It wasn’t really scientific, it wasn’t like he was going to compare fingerprints with the ones in the letter (Maybe not just yet, wouldn’t put it past him) but he was convinced he could make you confess.

There were a million things that statistically could go wrong, but that night he let himself hope, the promise of tomorrow lingering in the air.

Next chapter

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DEAR JAMES #3

summary: bucky founds a letter in his desk. Who is the mistery woman behind them?

pairing: congressman!bucky x fem!reader.

warnings: None. Pure fluff!

a/n: Thank you for reading! You all have been the sweetest!

@pampi-iranzo

Previous Chapter

#LETTER 3

Dear James:

Did I solemnely vow to myself I'd stop writing? Yes. Was I absolutely lying to myself? Also Yes. In my deffense it's kind of your fault. I saw you having my favorite chocolate chip cookies. And it has come to my attention that you asked poor Luke, the owner of the track, if he knew someone who was a really big fan of the chocolate chip cookies.  Really James? Now you interrogate poor small business owners? You left him kind of traumatized, you went full military ops on him Sargeant. Shame on you. But, just to let you know, kind of loved that you had, gave me stupid butterflies on my stomach.

Let's entertain for a minute the idea of revealing my identity. But what if you look at me and you are utterly dissapointed? I couldn't deal with that, my ĥeart could not cope with your rejection.  Wanting from a far is so much safer than taking the plunge. I know for a fact that you don't hate me, and that you aren't totally repulse by my presence, but showing my hand and let you know my true feelings, that's an entire different thing.

Sometimes I fear my own mind and body are going to betray me. One of these days you are going to ask me why I'm no paying attention to what you are saying and absentmindedly I'm going to answer "Sorry. I was lost in your eyes"  Oh James you have fried my brain but I can't risk you poaching my heart.

So what is the point of writing these letters you may ask. The answer is quite simple. Its because you should know that despite your past, despite the ghosts that may haunt you, you are worthy of love. You deserve whatever your heart desires. And I know you could make a woman so so happy, and  even if I'm no the recipient of your affection, I'd make me so happy to see you trying. Maybe hell was the journey but what if it brought you to heaven in the end.

It's drizzling outside. The city is silent but my heart is pounding heavily on my chest. l'm going to hide under my coziest blanket, going to sleep to the sound of Etta James "A Sunday kind of love" and going to meet you in my dreams. Bacause, just like gravity, dreaming of you is inevitable. 

Yours,

XXX

The office was deadly quiet. Of course it was. No other soul was going to  make an appearence at 6 A.M. Bucky told himself he was just being diligent and responsable, admirable even, showing up at the crack of dawn. A display of work ethics at it's finest. It wasn't a lie per se, he did have a never ending pile of documents to go through. The embarassing truth was that he was hoping to catch mistery woman in the act. He could imagine the scene unfolding on his mind.Her showing up with the envelope, he'd confront her, she would deny the whole thing, then he'd stole the letter and kiss her. Wait! What the hell was he thinking? His imagination was running wild. How was it possible that this faceless woman was stealing his every waking moment.

He could not confess out loud that he carried her letters with him everywhere like something sacred, like a talisman, or that he re read them countless time, at lunch, in the car on his way home, lying on his bed at night. Each time hoping to find a clue, a hidden meaning, anything that could get him closer to the author. He even thought of telling Sam, maybe ask him for advice, or to ask Torres to hack the surveillance cameras. Sam would never let him live this down and Torres would think he finally lost his mind. 

He waited, and waited, and waited a little more. The office started to come alive with the usual buzz of the staff getting ready to start the day. He couldn't get through two pages without zoning out, the documents might have been written in aramaic and it would have not make any difference. Then a knock on the door snap him out of it. His assistant Sarah opened the door carrying a million more files, coffe and the mail. He didn't even wait for her to leave the room to start rummaging through the mail rather desesperately. 

"Can I help you with anything Congressman?"  She asked while she was glancing at Bucky with a worried look.

"Sarah, would you explain to me how do we get the mail? Like, for example, what if someone wants to leave me a letter?.Would they give it to you personally?."

God bless poor Sarah. 20 years working for Congressmen didn't prepare her to deal with his new super soldier boss. But she was sweet and patient with him, and very good at reading the room. Always knew when he needed a bit of space. 

"Well, they would have to leave it at the front desk downstair, then the mail department would bring it here. Jerry is the one who usually deals with our correspondence." 

"And what If these "someone" mailing me works here? "He asked trying to sound nonchalant.

"Well, it depends. Senior staff has his mail collect and then distribute. But probably they would just hand it out to me." She stated rather factically.

"Congressman is someone threatening you? Do we need to report any situation? There is a whole department that handles this kind of situations" An almost motherly concern could be detected in her voice.

"No, no Sarah. Nothing like that. Just curiosity. Don't worry about it." He was mid-sentence when he found the letter.  He accompanied Sarah to the door and locked himself in his office.

The third letter hit him like a fucking bomb. Too close, too personal. God! She didn't even knew the effect she had on him. Calling him James like that, soo cheeky so bluntly, that did things to him. But he nearly implode when she called him Sargeant. He was teletransported to a different era, him wearing his old uniform, taking her on a date, charming her, flirting carefree, dancing under the moonlight, and stealing a kiss, maybe two, while walking her home. Did he still got it in him? It al seem so distant, so alien. But what If he still got game? What if he could sweep someone of her feet?. No, not someone. Her. 

She was witty and funny and oh so charming. But then she would lay bare her insecurities. How could he be dissapointed? The way she disarm him with just a couple of paragraphs, in a way that no other women ever did before. If she only knew. And then she was so insigthful, she knew he walked through hell, but that doesn't seem to frighten her or make her think less of him. She was a fucking diamond. How could he not see you? how he could not recognize that kind of candour?

He could be patient and play by her rules. With every letter she was giving more and more away, slowly and subtly. A new piece of the puzzle. He wasn't going to give up. A plan already assembling on his head. If she was watching, he was going to give her something to watch or better something to listen.

That afternoon, he made sure every single member of his staff was present. He left his office door half open and let Etta James voice fill every corner, every room. A silent plea. I'm here. I care. Please come foward. Please make yourself known.

Next Chapter

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DEAR JAMES #2

Previous Chapter

summary: bucky founds a letter in his desk. Who is the mistery woman behind them?

pairing: congressman!bucky x fem!reader.

Warnings: None. Pure fluff!

a/n: My first fanfic eveeeer! Haven't written a story since highschool probably. English not my first languague.

@pampi-iranzo

#Letter 2

Dear James:

Its 2 AM again, and I've been fighting it. I swore myself it was just a one letter thing, get it all out of my chest and done. Well, it's turns out its easier said than done. Once the dam has been breach, its difficult to keep everything I've benn bottling up at bay.

I saw you today you looked a little bewildered. Don't worry, just slightly, just a little fracture on the brave mask you put on every day. Its tempting to think I have something to do with it. I replay these scene in my head over and over. I come up to you, ask you on a date, nothing fancy, just coffee and maybe those delicious chocolate chip cookies they sell in the little food truck outside the building. Its chilly so you throw your jacket over my shoulders, ever the gentleman. I make you laugh with my witty remarks and God its the most wonderful sound in the world. You should laugh more James. In the real world I mean. You laugh plenty in my dreams.

Reality hits hard every damn time. I can't let myself indulge in this sentiment for too long because it makes me feel brave and gives me hope. And I don't even know if I'm worthy enough to earn your affection. You are not the only one wearing a mask you know? We all have to play our parts. But sometimes I wish that, just for one moment, I could paint outside the numbers, let myself believe I can choose a different path, not the one I should follow but the one I want to follow.

It's 3 AM and I'm probably no making any sense now. Need to get some sleep. Tomorrow I'll wake up to the promise of seeing you again and that for now is enough.

Yours,

XXX

Morning was achingly slow for Bucky. Not enough coffe in the world could prepare him for hours of committe hearings. The same boring speeches, no heart, just same old political propaganda. He wondered if he could survive two years of these nonsense bullshit. His tie was too tight, his shoes were too uncomfortable, the place too loud and too hot. He couldn't wait another minute, he abandoned the room in a hurry. He needed silence and he needed it now. He found solace in his office. Thank god his assistant left him a sandwich and a soda in his desk. He could have a quiet lunch by himself, just 30 minutes without someone asking him a damn thing. And he thought Sam was obnoxious. He was a sweetheart compare to the oldest Texas representative who couldn't stop yapping over the benefits of strip mining .

He was about to give his sandwich the first bite when he saw the envelope. Same handwriting, black ink, perfect cursive. Instinctively he stood up and checked through his office window if there was someone spying on him. Of course there wasn't. His assistant wasn't around, she was probably having lunch with his chief of staff. "Fuck" He cursed himself internally for leaving her alone in the hearing whithout saying a word. Some interns were having lunch in the conference room, but none of them were paying particularly attention to him.

He locked his door and placed himself in his office sofa. One hand was messing with his hair, the other one delicately holding the letter. It took him a couple of minutes to work the courage to open it. A silent twist in his stomach was an indication of how much big of a deal it was to him.

When he finished reading it he breathed out heavily. He didn't even noticed he was holding his breath. Every word crawled deep into his heart, warming him in a way he thought he was incapable to feel, lighting a part of him he though it was long gone. It was an absolute imperative to find out who this mistery girl was. Bless her soul. She felt unworthy of his affection? He was the undeserving one. Sure she knew about his past, everyone in the office knew, but it didn't prevent her of choosing to see the good in him.

He knew he was grumpy, his tendencies to keep everyone at arms lenght, his brooding silences and killer stares. It wasn't surprising at all mistery girl was so scared to show herself. But maybe there was a way he could show her he wasn't that bad, he could star building bridges so she would feel confident enough to reach out

So that afternoon he found himself having coffee and a chocolate chips cookie in the little food truck outside his office. A small gesture. A silent offering.

Hidden in the shadows of an office, spying through a window, someone tummy was now full of butterflies.

Next chapter

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DEAR JAMES #1

summary: bucky founds a letter in his desk. Who is the mistery woman behind them?

pairing: congressman!bucky x fem!reader.

warnings: None. Pure fluff!

a/n: My first fanfic eveeeer! Haven't written a story since high school probably. English not my first languague. Just need a little romance in my life.

These one is for you @pampi-iranzo

Letter #1

Dear James:

Why you think we don't we write letters anymore? I sure hope you being a 40s guy you would appreciatte this now almost lost form of communication. Maybe I'm a hopeless romantic who wishes she was born in a different era o maybe, just maybe, I'm a coward and can bring myself to talk to you. I try to picture myself looking straight to your eyes, that stupidly beautiful blue eyes of yours, and telling you what I feel and suddenly I can't seem to catch my breath. So I decided against it. But It's 2 AM, and I can't go back to sleep if I don't get these out of my chest.

Been tossing and turning in my bed, can't stop thinking of you. I tried to dismiss my feelings, I tell myself every morning is just a foolish office crush and I'll get over it soon enough. It has been months and I should have come to my senses now, but these feelings only seem to grow deeper.

I notice every little thing about you. I notice all your hard work, how you truly care and you want to make a true impact on the world. You listen, really listen, when people come up to you with their problems, and I see you genuinely want to help them. You are kind to those who are around you, never lashing out your frustations with the staff, you learnt everyone names, you even ask the janitor about his cat. You can't even begin to function in the morning without having coffe first. You make these adorable grumpy face when you are overwhelmed and drowning in stupid burocratic paperwork, probably wondering how the hell you end up in Washington DC . I learnt that you hate ties, lemon bars and that you poke your tongue just a little when you concentrate enough. I see how you smile with your eyes with every small victory and how your mood is definitely lighter after having pizza every friday.

And I also notice how you don't notice me at all. But for now living for the hope it all is enough.

Yours,

XXX

Bucky found the letter carefully placed in his desk that morning. A simple white envelope with his name written in the most beautiful cursive handwriting. He read the letter once, twice, by the fourth time he stood up and looked at the the goddamn paper as it was a ticking bomb about to explode. Was it a cruel joke? Someone trying to mess up with him? Maybe a trap? But why? With what purpose? Was someone trying to lure him into some sort of political scandal? It didn't make any sense. If he let himself entertain the idea that it was real, how come he didn't notice someone keeping such close tabs on him?

His morning was buried with meetings. Endless graphics, Power Points and diagrams but nothing really made sense. Yeah, phisically he was on his office but his mind, his mind was definitely somewhere else. He mentally made a list of every female member of his staff. He crossed off the list the ones over fifty and the married ones maybe?!?. He narrowed down the list to fiteen names but none of them particularly strike him as a hopeless romantic. Not one of them ever acted less than professional. It was the Washington way: zero warm, all business. Anyway, what was he expecting? A member of a Jane Austen Book Club with a copy of Pride and Prejudice in her desk? Someone with hearts in her eyes pining for him like the main character of a soap Opera? Yearning for him in the Congress halls? If the letter was real, something he was still debating, the author was probably a reserved and discreet person. If she got up the courage to leave a letter to him, a trained former assassin now playing Congressman ,is because she was sure she wasn't going to get caught. What if she worked close but not in his office? It was pointless. It could be anybody.

That night he was the one tossing and turning in his bed. He had no idea who this mistery woman could be. Not a clue. But surely she has all his attention now. He felt seen, in a way he hasn't in decades, she saw him as a man maybe worthy of love and admiration. Saw the good in him despite his past. Saw that he was really trying. And for now for him that was enough too.

Little he knew that across town another letter was being written...

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