To Alex, from Elliott

"Come in, Elliott! The door's always open for you, you know that, right?" Leah stepped away from her easel and wiped a splotch of paint off her hand.

"Of course, but I want to be a gentleman. What if you weren't decent?"

"I'd be in the bathroom, and that door would be locked. You'd be free to turn on the kettle and have a seat, or leave a note, or whatever. You know I'm always either in clothes or pajamas."

"It's the thought that counts, and a force of habit. I want the ladies to know that I mean them no harm."

"Well, thank you for that. So." She stared intently at the envelope in his hand. "Ready to open your letter?"

"Yes I am! Do you have yours?"

"On the table."

Every year, Elliott and Leah opened their Feast of the Winter Star invitations together, to see who they'd be giving gifts to. Then they'd open up a bottle of wine and plot out their gifts.

Before Elliott had finished pulling his letter opener out of the pocket of his jacket, Leah had torn her envelope open.

"Pierre!"

"Oh! That should be an interesting challenge."

"Yeah. I'll have to get him something memorable. Something personalized, maybe, with more sentimental value than practical value…"

Elliott raised an eyebrow.

"I want to give him something he won't sell."

"He'd do that?"

"Remember last year? The farmer gave him iridium-quality cranberry wine with a hand-drawn grapevine on the label."

"Yes! I do remember that! He sold it?"

Leah hurried to the kitchen and grabbed a bottle from the cabinet. She held it out for inspection. It was the farmer's bottle.

Elliott's jaw dropped.

"And he didn't even discount it!" Leah laughed. "Of course I bought it anyway, I love the farmer's drawings and I love good cranberry wine. I'm going to put silk flowers in the bottle tonight after we're done drinking it."

"We're drinking it?"

"Of course, this is a special occasion!" Leah grabbed a corkscrew from the drawer.

"Now that you mention it, my dear...in a way, it is. Informal as it is, I've come to anticipate the day the invitations arrive as giddily as I anticipate the feast itself!"

"Me too." The cork slid out of the bottle with a satisfying pop. Leah poured two glasses of wine and sat one in front of Elliott.

"I propose a toast!" Elliott raised his glass.

Leah lifted her glass in anticipation.

"To the pleasant surprise of an unexpected tradition, and a lovely lady to share it with."

They gently clinked glasses and sipped the wine.

"This stuff is wonderful," Leah said. "I hardly ever buy it for myself."

"It's definitely an indulgence worth savoring." Elliott picked up his letter opener. "Shall I?"

"Yeah, I'm curious!"

He deftly cut into the envelope and removed the letter. After a second of scanning, he found the name of his secret friend. "Alex?!"

"Oh! That should also be an interesting challenge."

"Alex." Elliott's face fell. "A young man who cares only for sports, television, and bodybuilding...three of the things I find least interesting in this world." He took a large drink of wine. "Good thing we have this whole bottle."

"He likes dogs, too…"

"Yes, but far be it from me to burden his grandparents with another one."

"Last year, Vincent was his gift-giver. He drew Alex a picture of a Mountain Shepherd, like Dusty."

"Ah." Elliott leaned back and looked up, as if searching the heavens for inspiration. "Most years, when I get my secret friend, I write them a story. I've done it for Sebastian, I've done it for Jas...the only friend I didn't write for was Emily, and that's because she specifically mentioned wanting a driftwood playground for that parrot of hers."

"I remember that!"

"Thanks for your help with that, by the way. I'm hopeless with tools. I just don't know what Alex would want! He has sports equipment. He has weights. If only I'd been assigned someone I could write for!"

"You could write for him."

"But he doesn't read! When he's not outside with that gridball, he's watching TV!"

"So...he enjoys a good story."

"Yes, but only if it's spoon-fed to him through the television."

"Well-"

"I'd wager a guess that if I wrote a story for him, he'd only use it as a placemat for his nachos."

"Hey!" Leah reached across the table and gave him a light slap on the wrist. "Stop being snarky! He only avoids reading because he's not good at it!"

"And I'm sure lack of practice has nothing to do with that," Elliott said sarcastically.

"Really! I talked to Haley about this. Remember when she came over the other day to take those photos of my sculptures for the website? We got to talking about Alex. Apparently, he's been meeting up with Penny in secret."

"Oh, really! I can imagine the green-eyed monster attacking Haley now! She's given to fits of passion-"

"She was livid! Until she found out that he was only meeting up with her for tutoring."

"Of course that's what he'd say!" A twisted smile graced Elliott's face. "This could be the plot of my next novel! Intrigue and romance and deception, how exciting!"

"No, he was being serious! Haley found children's books in Alex's room. Alex reads the same stuff as Jas and Vincent! According to Haley, he just can't understand written words that well."

"Dyslexia, maybe?"

"That could be. He's not a good writer, either. The farmer got a letter from him, and it was nearly unintelligible. But he's trying!"

Elliott poured himself another glass of wine.

"Poor guy." Leah shook her head. "He was so embarrassed when Haley found those books. He'd tried to hide them."

"It is hard to be seen as an outsider," Elliott said, "especially when the reason you're excluded is because you're behind where you should be." He had a faraway look in his eyes. "Maybe I should write a story for Alex."

"You should! You may need to be a little less loquacious than normal, though."

"I have written for Jas before. I think I can do it. Now I just need to think of what to write."

"Something about gridball?" Leah finished her glass of wine.

Elliott laughed. "Oh, that would be a disaster! I barely know my touchdowns from my strike zones!"

"Sci-Fi? I know he took his grandpa to see the last Star Voyage movie when it came out."

"Possibly. Wait, you said he likes dogs. Maybe I could write a story about a dog-a parable, maybe! A determined dog, abandoned by a callous owner, trying to find a home!" Elliott reached into his pocket and pulled out a small notebook and a pen. He wrote quickly, scrambling to catch the inspiration before it went away. "The poor thing will have to go through obstacles and storms and rejection before finally finding a loving family!"

"That sounds great!"

"Shall I focus on determination? Or learning, maybe? I want this to feel like a fun story, yet still teach a lesson…"

Elliott spent most of the week before the Feast of the Winter Star at his writing desk. The exceptions were walks through town to meet with Granny Evelyn or Haley and ask them about Alex. He wanted the story to resonate with the young man, not only so he'd actually attempt to read it, but so he'd treasure it.

Rather than writing by hand, in his beautiful flowing script, he borrowed Leah's laptop to type the story in an easy-to-read typeface. He bound the book in a plain blue hardback cover and embossed the title, "Scruffy's Quest," in gold letters.

Leah, in between her work on a new sign for Pierre's store, illustrated the front and back inside covers. She'd offered to illustrate the pages at the start of each short chapter, but Elliott turned her down. "No thank you, my dear. I've talked to Haley. She says Alex is embarrassed to be seen reading books with pictures in them." Leah understood, and was secretly glad to have a bit of free time during that one crazy week.

On the day of the Feast, Elliott wasted no time finding Alex.

"Alex, hello!"

"Hi, Elliott." Alex slouched in his seat, not meeting Elliott's eyes.

"Have you eaten yet?"

"A little."

"Only a little?" Evelyn interrupted. "Poor dear, are you not feeling well?"

Alex shrugged. "I'll get something later."

"Would you like to open your gift?" Elliott handed Alex a beautifully wrapped package.

"Oh, you're my secret gift-giver?" Alex took the package. He tore into the elaborate wrapping, snapping ribbons and dropping paper. Elliott cringed upon seeing hours of work undone in seconds.

"Scruffy's Quest…" Alex examined the cover.

"Yes. I wrote it just for you."

Alex couldn't hide the discomfort on his face. "Thanks."

"Go on, open it up!"

Alex opened the front cover to reveal Leah's illustration. It was a cute little dog, walking alone along a forested road. He turned the page and slowly read aloud. "Scruffy laid down by the fire with his bone. It was hard to believe that just a week earlier, he had nearly lost all hope." Alex paused and looked up at Elliott. He scanned the rest of the page. He leafed through the first few pages, then ruffled his finger through the rest of the book.

He stepped closer to Elliott. "I can read this!" His voice was an excited whisper. "This is something I can actually read!"

"That was my intention, sir." A smile crossed Elliott's face. He spoke quietly. "I know you're not much of a reader, but you love a good story. So I tried to write a story that you could read and would enjoy. I only hope I've succeeded."

Three days later, Elliott awoke to find a note in his mailbox:

"Elliott,

Thanks again for the book. I cried when Scruffy's new family gave him a new collar. Don't tell anyone.

Alex

P.S. I had no idea that "mongrel" means "mix breed" but I figured it out by the end."

Elliott tucked the note away in his nightstand, alongside unsent love letters, Leah's sketches, and a sachet of French lavender. It would stay there for the rest of Elliott's life.