My Letter:

Dear Kelly, my McDonald’s Drive-Thru Server,

I’ve been counting the days since our last encounter. As I reached for my McChicken Sandwich from my car window, we became one—customer and employee.

Little did I realize that driving up to your window would be the start of my McLove journey.

“What would you like today?”

“McChicken Sandwich meal, please.”

“Is that a large?”

What a moment! The chemistry was palpable! You even remembered to ask if I wanted a large, despite your two missing front teeth. My heart raced as you scolded another employee for spilling Fanta on the floor.

I wanted to ask you out but felt too shy! Your purple dreadlocks were irresistible—you truly Jamaican me crazy!

I’m posting this to your workplace, hoping you’ll respond. I’d love to take you out for drinks or maybe KFC sometime.

Much love,

Your Adam ? xoxo

Kelly’s Letter:

Dear valued customer,

Thank you for your letter to the McDonald’s Iraq branch.

I’m glad you enjoyed your large McChicken Sandwich meal. However, the cards and balloons you keep sending to the Drive-Thru make it challenging for me to serve customers.

I hate to disappoint you, but I have a boyfriend named Jeff, who works the tills here.

Remember last time when you knocked on the Drive-Thru window and hid in the bushes? I am <b>NOT</b> interested!

Please stop sending me homemade McChicken Sandwiches for my birthday…which isn’t even close!

Get help and leave me be!

Kelly

P.S. I’m not Jamaican.

My Letter:

Dear Judith,

I know you’re probably busy disarming bombs for the Bulgarian army, so I’ll be brief.

It feels like ages since we met in that Peruvian prison. How have you been? Has your rash cleared up? Mine is still hanging on…

I’ve been released and will be home for Bulgarian New Year. Any plans? Perhaps we could explore the lakes again or plot some government overthrow?

Let me know if you’re free, and we can set a date.

Much love,

Addykins ? xxxxxxxxxxxxxxx

P.S. Don’t forget the ointment!

Judith’s Letter:

Greetings Adam,

I’m currently disarming a bomb in a music studio used by AC/DC. It doesn’t help that they’re playing their hit “T.N.T.”

My backside is sore, but my mission to keep Bulgaria safe brings some relief.

Unfortunately, I’ll be swamped with bomb duties leading up to New Year. I do have a bottomless brunch after that, so I may be free then.

I must run—just cut the wrong wire and I have two minutes until detonation.

Until we meet again, my brave English crumpet,

Sending fist-bumps and firm handshakes,

Judith.

My Letter:

Dear Linda,

I hope you enjoyed your extreme knitting class last week. I had to attend book club alone, and it was rather dull—I accidentally brought a DVD!

The library feels emptier without you. I mean, it was quiet before, but now it’s eerily silent!

I understand you’re torn between your knitting and dedication to book club. Plus, you’re busy being an Elvis impersonator. Your time is valuable.

But Linda, I can’t stand being without you. That kiss we shared in the religious section terrified me, especially with those two nuns watching.

It’s all I can think about—not the nuns, just the kiss.

It was magical, and even with crumbs from that biscuit around your mouth, I’ve never felt more complete.

Please let me know if you’d like to come over for dinner after book club; I’ll cook your favorite—Roast Sheep and Onion Rings.

Lots of literary love,

Honey Pie Robinson ? x x x

Linda’s Letter:

Hi Adam,

Sorry for my late reply; I spilled sheep soup on the letter and had to start over!

Knitting was great, but I missed book club! Did you read my recommendation, “How to Find Something to Burn”?

I’ve decided to quit knitting and return to the club. No one compares to you, Adam. The way you cleaned the crumbs around my mouth made me feel young again.

I’d love to come over for Sheep and Onion Rings next week. Can I bring my homemade toilet wine? I added extra bleach for a zingy flavor.

I extend my deepest sexy feelings toward you, and I’ll see you next week.

Goodbye, my beautiful hunk of a man who loves books,

Linda ?

P.S. I can’t read.