Atlas smiled when Bartholomew came back with a letter, and stroked the owl's chest. "It'll be a long night and day for you, mate," he said. "But you can handle it."
Minerva,
Minnie? Really? That what your friends call you? I'm not sure I like it. I might have to think of something of my own. I'll let you know what I come up with.
I can't wait for Ireland, getting to know you better. Spending time together. More time like we spent up on my roof, maybe? I really enjoyed it.
Tell me something. Anything. Anything to get my mind off what I'm about to go through.
Yours, Atlas
He'd debated his closing remark. . . "Yours." . . But as he watched Bartholomew fly off with the letter, he smiled. It was sort of true. He hadn't had a thought about another woman since he met Minerva, except that week where he was trying to get her out of his head and had been wildly unsuccessful.