Stoker's Serenity: The Virtues Book IV

by A. J. Downey

  “Thank you,” she sang out, and I rolled my eyes so hard I nearly checked out my own ass.

  “I wanted to call him but it’s after two.”

  “What happens after two?”

  “I think he has to commute home. Kind of hard to answer the phone while driving… or riding or whatever.”

  “True, so just call him when you get home.”

  “Yeah,” I said and tried to keep the glum feeling that the wait was killing me out of my voice.

  “You like him?” she asked.

  “Yeah, Linny… I do. I’m not sure what it is about him, but I really do.”

  “Well, if he’s a douche, never fear. I got your back and will totally kick his ass for you.”

  I laughed and shook my head. God, I loved my friend…

  The drive home was such a drag. I’d lucked out. My land lady’s eyesight had gotten so bad, she couldn’t drive anymore, so she’d sold me her car – a little 1990 Honda Accord with barely any miles on it – for dirt cheap. In exchange, I took her shopping and to her doctor’s appointments pretty faithfully.

  She was sitting on her front porch when I pulled into the garage and perked up and waved at me when I walked out to go around to the stairs.

  “Hello there, Serenity!” she called.

  “Hi, Mrs. Sedgwick!” I called back.

  “Come have a glass of tea!”

  “Oh, I wish I could, but I have a phone call to make. Rain check?”

  “Absolutely, my dear! My door is always open.”

  “Thank you, Mrs. Sedgwick!”

  “I told you already, call me Nellie!”

  I smiled and shook my head and disappeared around the corner and dashed up the steps to my apartment. Once inside I performed my coming-home ritual. Shoes off, sigh of relief at the cool hardwood beneath my feet, soothing the burning, throbbing ache from being on them all day, and then divest of the rest. Keys on hook, purse on rack, shoes on the shoe rack by the door behind the coat rack, grab phone, and a running leap onto the made bed.

  I bounced twice and let myself just melt into the softness, letting out a gusty sigh. I lit up my phone and called Stoker.

  “Ahhh, I was starting to wonder if I was going to hear from you today,” he said without preamble.

  “Yeah, sorry. By the time I got my lunch it was after two and I worked until six. I just got home. Is it too late?”

  “Nope, not at all. You sound tired.”

  “I am tired,” I said.

  “Come see me,” he said.

  “What? Now?”

  “No, not now,” he said laughing. “This weekend.”

  “I wish I could, but retail… My schedule isn’t always set. I don’t have this weekend off. I get them every now and then but my next one off isn’t until next weekend.”

  “Aw, that’s balls.”

  I hesitated and finally suggested, “You could always come see me… you know, for dinner. I mean, I could cook.”

  “When’s your next day off?” he asked gently.

  “Um, I have split days this week, so Thursday, and then Monday, but then I have the weekend after that off, both Saturday and Sunday.”

  “How about I come by after work on Thursday, we can grab a bite to eat somewhere?”

  “I’m actually a really good cook. I mean, I like to cook, I just never have anyone to cook for.”

  “Okay,” he agreed. “Dinner, Thursday night.”

  “It won’t be too far out of your way?” I asked meekly. Like I said, I was a world-class worrier.

  “Nah, I’m actually working out that way for now.”

  “Oh,” I said, a bit taken aback. “God that must be awfully far for you.”

  “It’s no picnic but I’ve done worse.” He sounded dismissive of the commute, which baffled me.

  “I couldn’t do it,” I said.

  He chuckled. “You do what you gotta do if you want to keep a place of your own and food in your face,” he said and I sighed.

  “I’ll concede your point, there.”

  “Oh, goodie! I like to win,” he said and I could hear the smile in his voice. I laughed, probably harder than I should have.

  “Well, it won’t be hard with me. I very rarely, if ever, come out on top.”

  “Mm, maybe we’ll have to change that luck of yours.”

  I lost my breath at the low, sultry tone of his voice, and it took me a couple of tries to find my own.

  “I-I think I’d like that, someday.”

  “I like that you’re open to the idea,” he said, and his voice glowed with a pleasure to match.

  I smiled, blushing furiously, and suddenly couldn’t wait for Thursday. We chatted a little more, cooling it with the double entendres, and just talked about our respective days. It was nice, and I was sad when we had to hang up, him to go to bed and me to fix myself something to eat.

  I didn’t get to talk with Stoker at all on Tuesday, but I woke up to a good morning text telling me that I was on his mind and to have a good day. On Wednesday, we exchanged texts and managed a short evening talk about how excited we were for the next night and getting to know one another some more.

  I spent my day off getting my apartment into shape. I mean, it was always clean, neat and orderly. I couldn’t stand clutter or mess. It made me feel all kinds of anxious, so really it was cleaning what was already clean, going down the usual checklist of day-off chores like getting laundry started, with a few extras like making sure fresh towels were on the towel rack in the bathroom and that my makeup was put away.

  I made sure with a quick text that there weren’t any food allergies or anything he couldn’t stand, and when I got the all-clear, I sat down at my table to go through my cookbooks to figure out what I wanted to do. I spent a half hour or so choosing what I wanted to make and making a shopping list for what I didn’t have and would need. I ran to the grocery store and picked up my missing items and, worrying my bottom lip at how much my checking account balance had dropped, made my way home.

  I set everything to marinating in my fridge, giving the flavors time to marry. Realizing it was still pretty early in the day, I let myself out to play – as in, went down to indulge in one of my favorite pastimes.

  It wasn't just Mrs. Sedgwick I loved about living here. There was also what had been a little plot of grass growing out behind the garage in the side yard of her house. A little plot of grass that was just begging for a greenhouse.

  With her permission, I’d built one for myself, out of cheap pavers, cinder blocks, and reclaimed windows. It was sturdy, and cozy, and more than a bit ramshackle, but I loved it out there. It allowed me to tend to my orchids, a thing I’d grown to love with a high school horticulture class.

  The greenhouses behind my high school had given me a place to essentially hide during lunches and even some assemblies. I’d been horribly bullied for being different… poor, for one, but my penchant for depressing music, literature, and comics, as well as wearing all black all the time, and even some of my more unique religious explorations, had made me a prime target for the popular crowd. I’d been marked out as something ‘other’ since junior high, and God it had been awful.

  It made it hard for me as an adult to trust anybody. I was always expecting the very worst that humanity had to offer and I found I was very rarely, if ever, disappointed on that front, which was just sad.

  It was one of the reasons that Stoker had my interest. He was so… different. No one except for Linny had ever stood up for me or looked out for me like he had and I was so very curious about him, about what made him so different from other guys.

  I misted some of my plants, checking for mites or any other signs of distress. I was excited to see that a few of my babies were getting ready to bloom.

  I talked to them, told them how happy I was to see them. How excited I was for the evening, and how I would see them soon, but that I needed to go get a shower and get dressed. I didn’t know how long it would take Stoker to get here from his job si
te and I didn’t want to leave any margin for error in looking a hot mess when he got here.

  I carefully chose one of my casual dresses – at least, casual for me – and laid it out on my neatly-made bed.

  I showered, made sure everything was shaved, and brushed through my wet hair and braided it over my shoulder. I didn’t always dry it, preferring not to heat damage it if I could avoid it. I didn’t exactly have a lot of money to go around, so expensive salon visits were out of the question. I could barely afford to get it trimmed every three months; usually I went six or more between haircuts.

  I stared into the mirror and huffed out a breath, my shoulders dropping as I took in my plain appearance. There wasn’t enough makeup in the world to fix it. Linny insisted I was a pretty girl, but all I’d ever gotten from most anyone else was a passable ‘cute.’

  Long ash brown hair, I would say a medium brown in color, that was pretty unremarkable save for its thickness and length. Skin too pale for the Florida sun, which I did try to avoid. I mean, I only really had two colors – glacier and lobster. Even my eyes weren’t much to write home about. Just plain brown, an almost even match for my hair. No bronze or amber highlights, nothing unique at all about me really. Just any old girl from anywhere in the world lost in the crowd on the street.

  I put on a black bra and a black pair of matching panties before slipping the black bohemian mini-dress over my head. It was a simple tank top that fit me well at the top and flared perfectly into a flirty skirt at my hips, showing off my figure. It was one of my favorites, and so, it was faded with wear and washing, the embroidery standing out darker against the light cotton and rayon mixed fabric that almost appeared stonewashed now.

  I was in my own house, and didn’t feel the need to put on any sandals or shoes so I just kept barefoot, checking my deep burgundy toe polish for any chips. Finding none, I found myself with nothing to really do except wait, so I tucked myself into the little reading nook I’d made for myself in the corner of the wall that led to my front door and the wall that ran behind the head of my bed. It had windows on both sides, allowing plenty of natural light in over my shoulders.

  The wing-back chair that I’d parked there was a garage-sale find that I’d reupholstered myself.

  It wasn’t the best job of lining up all of the upholstery tacks, but was passable from a distance. I’d found a nice black-on-black damask-patterned upholstery fabric. There had been just enough to cover the front and the back of the chair and its seat in the bargain bin at the fabric store. I’d pieced it together with a plain, inexpensive black velvet on the arms and the back of the chair, and it’d turned out nicely.

  I’d found a closely matching ottoman at another garage sale and I had recovered it in some of the same black velvet and, with the little round high table perched beside the chair to hold my drink and my book or phone, it made quite the cozy little reading space.

  When it got cold, which it rarely did in the Sunshine State, I just used an amethyst chenille throw – again, found in the bargain bin – and I couldn’t be bothered to come out of my snug little world for hours.

  It was where Stoker found me when I finally came up for air. I was reading along and got this strange feeling like I wasn’t alone and when I looked up, I’d yelped and then put a hand over my mouth as if I could somehow take the sound back. He was standing just on the other side of the screen door.

  It wasn’t too bad out today and I tended to turn off the A/C unit in the apartment and throw open doors and windows if the heat was something I could tolerate. It saved money.

  “Sorry,” he said, and pushed open the screen, stepping across the threshold. “I didn’t mean to scare you, I just couldn’t help myself.”

  “What do you mean?” I asked, setting my book aside and uncurling myself from the chair, standing so I could come around the little ottoman and greet him.

  I stepped over to him and looked up at him. He was tall. Easily six foot or more to my whole five foot three.

  “You were just, I don’t know...” He laughed and it sounded a bit nervous, which was funny to me – him, nervous, around me? Ha. “You looked like you were really into it and you were just so beautiful, I had to stop and just look for a minute.”

  I stared at him and blinked stupidly. Me? Beautiful?

  “I’m glad you’re here,” I murmured and he smiled.

  “Yeah?”

  “Yeah… can I get you something cold to drink?”

  “Uh, yeah.” He lifted a gym bag, “I kind of came prepared. It was kind of brutal out there today, you mind if I get a quick shower? I’d hate to stand around stinking up your place.”

  “No, not at all, bathroom is through there, take your time. Are you hungry now?”

  He nodded. “Food sounds fabulous, actually.”

  “I’ll get it started.”

  He moved past me with a smile and a nod and we’d been standing just near enough that the air was just a touch cooler for him moving away. He didn’t stink, not one bit, at least not to me but I could understand not wanting to feel grimy after a hard day’s work.

  I moved into the kitchen and filled two glasses with ice and poured from the pitcher of lightly sweetened ginger-and-pear white tea I kept in the fridge. I liked the exotic taste and, though like any southern girl I liked a good sweet tea, this was just healthier than the copious amounts of sugar found in most traditional sweet teas. Besides, honestly, the tea bags weren’t that much more than your regular ol’ Lipton or whatever.

  Bonus, white tea contained less caffeine than green or black teas, and as much as I worshipped caffeine in the early mornings or as a pick-me-up throughout the day, I didn’t need it before bed or in the evenings. My nerves and anxiety were more than enough to keep me awake staring at the ceiling long after I should have been asleep.

  I set the table and took our food out of the fridge, dropping the liner to my Instant Pot into the housing. It was the best Christmas gift I’d ever bought myself; I’d gotten a major deal on it for Black Friday. It had been marked down to seventy-five percent off the original price, plus more with bonus rewards coupons and an employee discount on top of that. In fact, I’d gotten such a great deal on it, I’d been able to afford the accessories set that went with it. I barely, if ever, used my oven for anything anymore, and that included making breads or cakes, since I’d gotten it.

  Sealing the lid, I set it to cook, and added rice to my little five-cup rice cooker along with the requisite amount of water. Everything was so efficient that I was essentially done before he’d even had time to turn on the shower.

  Feeling quite pleased with myself, I set his glass of iced tea near his plate and went back over to my little reading nook with mine, setting it on the little side table and taking up my book once more to wait for him.

  The food would only take around twenty minutes to cook once the pot came to pressure. Ten minutes to cook, an additional ten minutes to rest, and voilà, dinner was served.

  I tried very hard to immerse myself back into my book, but it was hard, and it was mostly due to the fact I couldn’t stop picturing his hard body all naked, steamy, and wet in my shower just behind my bathroom door. I stared at the door and blushed, jumping slightly when the tap shut off and quickly returning my gaze to the lines of text that blurred together on the page.

  God, the last thing I wanted him to do was come out here to me staring at the door like some… pervert or something. Desperation, thy name is Ren, I thought to myself.

  The last thing I wanted to do was give any kind of hint about how hard up I was for friends. I had Linny, sure, but she was pretty much my only friend and that was by way of some fucking miracle, I’ll tell you what.

  I was lonely, but I knew she couldn’t be my end all of be all’s when it came to friendship, so, as lonely as I was, I usually pretended I was just dandy with my solitude. I knew Linny would feel some kind of guilty if she knew otherwise and I didn’t want that on my conscience. Besides, it wasn’t her fault people d
idn’t want to have fuck-all to do with me. It wasn’t really mine, either… it just was what it was, I guess.

  The door to the bathroom opened up a moment later and Stoker stepped out. A plume of steam and the scent of clean man wafted over to me and I tried not to press my thighs together. He smiled at me and gave me a wink, his long hair pulled back into a ponytail so tight it gave the illusion it was short. His light gray tee hugged his chest and shoulders nicely and was darkened in places by some errant water droplets.

  He set his duffel bag by the open bathroom door and came over, his booted footfalls across the hardwood deep and resonant. He dropped onto the ottoman with a satisfied and gusty sigh and he rested his hands on the calf of one leg where I was curled in my seat. I sucked in a tremulous breath at just how good his calloused fingertips felt against my bare skin.

  “Now I feel like I can greet you properly,” he said with a crooked grin. “C’mere.”

  I set my book aside and put my feet to the floor, standing up straight; his hands went lightly to my hips and he stood too, hugging me to him gently. He immediately leaned back with a wink and asked, “So how was your day?”

  “Pretty low-key,” I murmured. “Dinner should be up in about fifteen minutes or so.”

  “That fast? Wow.”

  “You said you were hungry now.”

  He nodded. “I’m ravenous, actually.” His gaze lingered on me a bit long after he said it and I laughed a little, blushing. We broke apart and retook our seats.

  “What you reading?” he asked.

  “Oh, um…” I grabbed my book back up and handed it to him.

  “Nice,” he said and turned it over. “The Woman in Black, by Susan Hill. Horror fan, then?”

  “Not really,” I said. “I have an eclectic taste in books and movies. I just decided to read this one because I saw the movie with Daniel Radcliffe and I liked it, so I thought I might like the book better.”

  “You a movie-before-the-book kind of a girl, then?” he asked.

  “Absolutely. If you read the book before the movie, you’ll almost always be disappointed in the film adaptation, but if you see the film before reading the book... When you liked the movie… well, if you liked it enough give the book a try, it’s almost a guarantee that the book will be a thousand times better, so win/win.”