Over the holidays, we discovered a gift at our doorstep.

“What is it?” asked the child.

“Chocolates from our hermit neighbour,” said His Highness. “She leaves them every year.” He ripped off the glittery wrapping paper. Fancy chocolates from Daniel Le Chocolat Belge. Yummo.

While he wasted time checking the chocolate identification codes, I identified a large caramel that I quickly popped into my mouth. He decided on a mocha cream.

“Dear John,” read the child from the card.

“Wub?” I mumbled through a mouthful of caramel chocolaty goodness.

“Who’s John?” asked His Highness.

“Merry Christmas,” the child continued. “Love Shirley.”

My mouth was finally empty. “Who’s Shirley?”

We looked at each other. We looked at the now partly empty box.

“Should I go buy another box of chocolates?” I asked.

“John doesn’t know who we are,” said His Highness.

“Could Shirley find our house again?” asked the child.

I nibbled on a passion fruit cream. Pondering a solution. Feeling sorry for poor John. Whoever he might be.