It started with a book. You wrapped it carefully in brown paper, the edges neatly folded and the corners sharp, and tied it with a deep green satin ribbon. The whole package had a delicate, vintage feel, something that screamed of thoughtful care. You slipped it onto Spencer's desk before anyone arrived at work. It was a first edition of The Narrative of John Smith by Arthur Conan Doyle, something you knew he'd appreciate, considering his love for rare books and his admiration for Doyleβs work. Alongside it, you left a small note in carefully disguised handwriting, the letters flowing in a way that didnβt resemble your usual handwriting:
"For someone who appreciates the extraordinary in the ordinary. Merry Christmas, from a secret admirer."
Your heart pounded as you hurried back to your desk, pretending to immerse yourself in a report, but your eyes kept flickering to Spencerβs desk. You couldnβt resist stealing a glance. When Spencer finally walked in, he stopped in his tracks. His gaze immediately fell on the book. He picked it up carefully, cradling it in his hands, inspecting every corner, the spine, the cover. You saw his lips curl upward in the softest smile as he read the note, and something inside you fluttered nervously.
You kept your eyes fixed on your screen, pretending to work, but you couldnβt ignore the way your pulse raced as he lingered. He looked up and scanned the room, his gaze briefly lingering on you, more curious than surprised.
"Interesting," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper but sharp in the stillness of the bullpen. "A mysterious gift... Any of you know anything about this?"
Everyone else at the table shook their heads, but his eyes didnβt leave yours. His smile was subtle but knowing, and there was a flicker of recognition there that made your heart leap - was he onto you? The thought both thrilled and terrified you.