Page 6 of Stoker's Serenity

He searched my face and sighed. “Starting to get the feeling you don’t get many people who are nice to you.”

“Not really, no.” I swallowed convulsively at having given myself away on that front.

He smiled and bowed his head, nodding.

“I’d like to change that, I think,” he murmured. “Give me your number?”

He was asking. There was definitely a question mark at the end of ‘number’ and I wanted to so badly, but it was almost too good to be true. I bit my bottom lip and made the decision.

“Seven-five-four…”

He pulled out his phone swiftly and entered it in, and I jumped when my phone buzzed in my purse, which rested against my hip.

“There. Now you have mine,” he said calmly. “I hope to hear from you, and don’t forget to text your friend.”

He reached out and moved some of my mussed hair behind my ear, his fingertip lightly tracing the edge of my ear and I tried not to shiver. It had nothing to do with the ambient temperature out here and everything to do with a very different kind of heat.

“Thank you for the reminder,” I murmured, digging both my phone and my keys from my little bag. I entered his name into my phone alongside his number and then fired off a text to Linny telling her I was home.

“Okay, you good?” he asked, when my friend texted back almost immediately.

“I’m good, but, out of curiosity – where do you live?”

That dashing crooked smile of his came out and he said, “Ft. Royal.”

I blinked and blurted out, astonished, “That’s almost two hours away!”

“And?”

“And I live clear in the opposite direction you were going!”

“And?”

I blinked at him stupefied. “And why would you do that for someone you don’t even know?”

“Maybe I just figured it would give me a better shot at getting your number.”

I laughed. I couldn’t help it. Like I was going to deny a man this kind and this gorgeous anything. Especially after he was nice to me.

“Are you going to be okay? I mean, it’s late, and that’s going to be one very long ride…”

“I’ll be fine,” he said. “I’ll stop for an energy drink or a cup of coffee at a gas station and it’ll be all good.”

“I mean, it’s not the finest gas station coffee or anything, but I have some upstairs, can I make you a cup?” I offered, desperately wanting to show him even a tenth of the kindness he’d shown me tonight.

He smiled big, his teeth very white in the dark and asked, so flirtatiously it was obvious even to me, “Are you inviting me up to your place?”

“For coffee,” I established clearly, laughing nervously, “and to talk some more… sure.”

He got off his bike and took his keys, helmet, and jacket. I led him past the detached garage, the place between my shoulders tingling slightly as he followed me. I went up the switchback back stair with its climbing clematis vines. They turned the railings into a living thing, cascading with deep green foliage and white blossoms with frilled purple centers.

I unlocked the door and opened it right into the little studio I called home. The kitchen to the far right, the little dining table between the door and it. Straight ahead, my queen bed facing the wall-mounted television. Beside the black dresser below the television was the door to the bathroom, which also contained a small stacking washer and dryer.

I loved my little home. It was so me, cozy and a curious mix of light and dark. I hung my keys on the little wrought iron key hook plaque by the door and my purse on the heavy, free-standing, matching coat rack set on the hardwood floor beside it.

I hadn’t wanted the feet to gouge the floor, and I’d needed the thing to slide easily, so I’d found this round black placemat that’d fit perfectly beneath it with enough cushion to preserve the wood floor.

I was forever cleverly repurposing things like that, and the style was reflected here and there among the skulls and gothic artwork on my shelves and walls.

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