For a lot of my classmates spring break brings promises of suntans, the beach, and showing off way too much skin in booty shorts or bikinis even though a cold front just blew through and it's fifty degrees in the shade.

My mom always said the three things that don't ever get cold are penguins, polar bears, and whores.

For me, though, spring break means relaxing on the couch with a good book, iced tea in hand, trying to tune out the sound of my little brother Alex watching Pokèmon, and today is no exception.

"Hey, Harper, what's your favorite Pokèmon?" Alex asks over the sound of an intense cartoonish battle. Lazily turning the page of A Tale of Two Cities, I glance up before returning to my book.

"Oh, I dunno... Salamence is pretty cool, I guess."

"I like Bulbasaur!" Alex grins, revealing two missing teeth from his gaping smile. His eyes fall on the book in my hands. "Whatcha reading?"

"Charles Dickens." I reply slowly, turning another page.

"Sounds gross."

"Bulbasaur sounds gross too, if you think about it." I argue. Alex seems like he's about to retaliate when another voice beats him to it, echoing from the window.

"Magneton is the best Pokèmon, no contest."

A Tale of Two Cities goes flying as I jump upright and dart to the window, where a guy stands there with a bundle of letters in his hand. The first thing about him I notice is his postal uniform, a blue shirt and shorts topped off with a USPS hat that doesn't quite cover his wavy brown hair. Alex runs to my side and waves when he sees the post office guy, who waves back with a genuine smile.

"Excuse me, but who are you?" I demand, then realize how harsh I sound and try again. "I mean, how can I help you?"

"Oh, sorry. I'm the new mailman, and I was looking for your mailbox." The guy responds, smiling apologetically.

"Mailman? More like mailboy." Alex squints down at the mailboy-not-mailman, who shrugs and rearranges the letters under his arm.

"Mailboy. I like the sound of that. Anyways, as a member of the USPS it would be wrong of me to not ask why you don't have a mailbox." He puffs out his chest in a faux-official manner and I can't help but laugh.

"Since you asked, mailboy, it got run over by a golf cart." I lean forward on the windowsill with a knowing smirk and watch as his expression turns from cheerful to confused.

"Wait one second..." He holds up a hand. "A golf cart?"

"Yeah!" Alex bounces up and down at my side, unable to contain his excitement. "It knocked down the mailbox when it crashed into our lawn. Cool, right?"

The mailboy looks up at us with a determined expression. "Well, as a dutiful mailboy, it would be un-befitting of me to not deliver your mail. For you, miss..." He peeks at the letters, "Miss Collins."

"Thank you, mister..." I parrot, and his lips twitch up into a smile. Sweeping the hat off of his head with a flourish, he performs an overly-dramatic bow that makes both Alex and I giggle.

"Mister Chase Park, your majesty." He winks and holds out the letters, which Alex snatches out of his hand eagerly. "Your local mailboy and Magneton-lover, at your service."

"Why thank you, mailboy." I tease, and he smiles again, then sweeps a hand through his caramel hair before fitting the USPS cap back onto it.

"I should probably go finish my rounds. See you tomorrow?" He asks, and I feel myself blush. What's the deal, Harper? It's just the mailman.

"I look forward to it." We exchange another round of smiles before he takes off down the sideyard and I slide the window down. Alex is jumping around again, ever energetic.

"That was so cool!" He squeals. "I like our new mailboy."

"I do to, kiddo." I tousle Alex's hair and he pulls away, then sits back down to finish his show. I try to settle down and get back into Dickens again, but I keep getting distracted, especially when I think of our new mailboy as Charles Darnay...

...

The Tuesday mail comes right on schedule, and with it our mailboy. Again, I'm settled on the couch reading Dickens with Alex by the TV. The knuckles rapping at the window are no surprise this time, but Chase doesn't stop to chat. When I reach for the mail on the windowsill I realize why.

A cramped, handwritten note sits on top of the letters, and taped to the stationary is a single Hershey's Kiss.

For someone equally as sweet.

--Mailboy

...

At the end of the week I have a collection of small trinkets, all from the mailboy, all equally as precious as the first. In the morning I find myself migrating to the window, using the light of the rising sun to read A Tale of Two Cities, hoping to catch a glimpse of the mailboy when he comes, maybe sneak another conversation out of him. Each of his little notes are set in my copy of Dickens, and I flip through the pages, pausing to read when I come to another slip of stationary.

Magneton is a better decision, but I won't fault you for it. Maybe I can get you to change your mind.

--Mailboy

Here's a postcard from Florida that didn't have a stamp. I don't think the sender will miss it. Honestly, who sends a letter without stamps? Enjoy the view :)

--Mailboy

Your house is the favorite on my route, even sans mailbox. It adds character, you know? But the house isn't the best part.

--Mailboy

You seem like a chocolate kind of girl, so I got you a collection. We may disagree on the best Pokèmon, but maybe we can agree that Snickers are the best candy bar. Drop your opinion into the mailbox if you agree - I'll find it.

--Mailboy

Finally I catch him on Saturday morning, carefully tiptoeing through the grass. Again he does a silly bow, sweeping his cap off and doing fancy fluttering hand motions, and I laugh quietly, keeping my voice low in the early morning silence.

"My lady."

"My mailboy."

He suddenly takes a step back, wringing his cap in his hands with his head down, then looks up at me carefully, like I'm an atomic bomb about to explode.

"Listen, Harper... I was just wondering, you know, you seem really nice and all..."

"You're hedging." I point out, and he laughs, rubbing the bridge of his nose.

"This was a lot easier when I practiced it." He admits, and my eyebrows shoot up, confused. "Okay. Let me try again." After a short pause he continues, breath steaming in the cool morning air. "Harper, I was wondering if you wanted to -- I mean, if you and I wanted to, you know..."

"Yes...?" I pry, and his blush lights up the sky.

"I was wondering if you wanted to go with me to get ice cream or something! Well, I mean, not really as a date. Kind of as a date. I'm not a creep-o stalker or anything, I swear." He raises his hands in defense and I feel myself blushing just as brightly.

"Chase, that's really sweet..." I begin, and his head droops in discouragement. "No, no, I'm saying yes! Yes, I'd love to!" I barely manage to fumble through the words, notably not my finest moment, but his face lights up in a grin.

"Really? Hey, that's great! It's a plan." His smile is wide and contagious; I can't help but grin along with him. "Is Scoops okay?"

I nod, remembering the local ice cream parlor and its charm. Plus, their cookies and cream chocolate shake is to die for.

"I'll meet you here at two, then. Is that okay?" I nod and he continues. "Awesome! Well, see you then!" His excitement is almost tangible as he starts to walk away, then pivots on his heel and darts back, face flushed.

"The mail!" He explains, and I take the letters from his hands, pausing for just a moment too long as he hands them to me, then duck back into the house with a blush burning at my cheeks. I can't believe the mailboy just asked me on a date and I'm still in my pajamas! My hair must look a mess, and I'm not even wearing any makeup! Oh, I must look like an undergrown troll...

...

Two o'clock can't come soon enough, and when it does the mailboy is waiting for me outside of the shop, still wearing his smart USPS uniform and rocking back and forth on his heels. I wave at him when I approach and his ever-present smile widens, bringing a shine to his eyes. Now that we're so close I can determine with confidence that he is kind of cute...

We enter Scoops and I order my signature cookies and cream chocolate shake, with Chase following my lead, and we take a table for two by the window. The rich taste of chocolate blooms over my tongue as Chase talks, with me interrupting occasionally, but I'm satisfied to listen.

"I'm a junior at Westfield..."

"Hey, me too!" I jump in. "But my summer job isn't with the post office. So tell me..." I stir my milkshake with my straw, "How does a junior in high school end up as a USPS delivery boy?"

"Oh, that's an easy one. I needed a summer job, and I liked it enough to stay part-time all year. It's pretty easy, and I get up early enough as is." He shrugs, glancing at his cap set on the table. "I guess it's even better I took the job in the first place, otherwise I wouldn't have met you."

"Another question, and this may seem kind of brutally honest." I preface, and he smiles again.

"I like brutally honest."

"Chase, you're a really nice guy, and this is not at all sounding like I wanted it to, but why did you ask me on a date?" The words fall out of my mouth before I can stop them and I wish I could bite them back in an instant. Chase seems unfazed, though, leaning back in his seat and taking a sip of his shake before answering.

"Well, this is going to sound brutally honest, but here goes. Okay, you know how all the girls will be talking about what they're going to do over the break, and some are going on fancy trips to the Bahamas or flirting up a storm at the pool -- I mean, come on! It's fifty degrees outside! Anyways, when I first came to deliver your mail you seemed really natural. Like, those girls wouldn't get caught dead in a room with their little brother watching Pokèmon, of all things. But you seemed pretty cool about it. Besides, you're prettier in pajamas than any of them are in prom dresses."

There's a pause where I blush fire-engine red and Chase ducks his head. "Well, that was awkward." He mutters, and I'm silent, not really knowing what to say. How can you respond to something like that?

"All this to say, Harper, you're so natural, and I think that's amazing. And this is also going to seem pretty sudden, but..." He trails off, then raises his head and takes on a fake stuffy accent. "You have been the last dream of my soul."

I freeze and stare at the mailboy for a second, the dedicated, clever, and maddeningly natural mailboy, not believing my ears.

"You did not just quote A Tale of Two Cities."

And I kiss him there, right on the spot, the taste of cookies and cream chocolate shake lingering on his lips, because, along with being dedicated and clever and maddeningly natural, he is mine.