There wasn't a day that went by where Max's manager wasn't at least partially concerned that the boy would go running off midshift. He was a good employee, the best they had, really. He had a knack for plants and charmed the pants off anyone who came in. Sometimes, however, he took it too far, and next thing you know he was on a playdate. It didn't matter who; young, old, interested, uninterested, Max would metaphorically (sometimes literally) sweep them off their feet and in a flash, the store would be abandoned.
Lately, luckily, Max was more present in the store. Sure, he always seemed to be writing mysterious letters or reading a well-worn book a hundred times over, but at least he was physically there to assist.
Which is where he found himself that day. Mid-Dear Josephine letter, scribbling in the margins as he was truly at a loss for words, only knowing he missed his family and their times together, finding that the holidays were too far away for comfort. It was certainly not one of his better days.