Page 3 of Serenity & the Hermit
“Oh crap! Crapity, crap crap!” He looks around in a panic.
“You OK there?”
“I…I must have mixed them up,” he mutters, more to himself than to me.
“OK. That’s fine. I won’t tattle on you. Can you get mine and we’ll call it a day?”
His eyes bulge and then he’s rapidly shaking his head. “That won’t work.”
“Why?”
“It’s…” He glances over his shoulder then lowers his voice to a whisper. “Gone.”
“What do you mean it’s gone?” I ask, trying to stay calm with a smile plastered on my face despite my confusion.
“I mean that Mr. Er… Valentine took it.” He adjusts the collar of his shirt as though he’s struggling to breath. I’m starting to have the same problem.
“Um…OK. Can we contact him and let him know there was a mistake?”
“Oh no. I don’t want to do that.”
“Don’t want to?”
“Can’t.”
“Can’t?”
“Won’t.” He gulps.
“I see. Isn’t it your job to make sure the mail gets into the right person’s hands?”
“Ah… one moment.” He disappears from his post, heading over to an older gentleman who looks just as pale in the face as the first clerk at the news. They have a rather hurried conversation then the first clerk comes back to me in a rush. “I can give you his address.”
“OK. But is that allowed?” I glance between him and the older man who’s obviously in charge.
He focuses on scribbling on a piece of paper. “Not really. But there are extenuating circumstances.”
“Such as?”
“Mr. Valentine and the postal service have history. He doesn’t like visitors, you see, and well, after he made that real clear, we don’t go up there anymore.”
“But you’re fine sending me?”
He pushes the piece of paper with the address on it across the counter and nods. “He wouldn’t hurt a woman.”
“How do you know that?”
“Oh, we just do. The whole town does,” he says, leaning around me and signaling for the next in line. “Enjoy your day, miss.”
I hold the paper between my fingers and frown at my obvious dismissal. “Thanks…I guess…”
NELSON
By the time I’ve finished my errands and gotten back to my cabin, it’s getting dark and my stomach is rumbling. So much that I contemplate stopping off at my cousin’s bar—aptly named, Valentine’s—to grab a meal and a pint. Otis is a gun on the grill, and he makes a burger with onion rings on the side that’ll make a hermit like me poke his head out once and a while for a feed. But tonight isn’t that night. I’ve had about enough of peopling, and I’m still trying to work out what it was about that woman who had me reacting like my body was on fire earlier. You’d think I’d never been around a beautiful woman at the way my dick shot up. That was downright embarrassing.
Hauling the bags of groceries inside, I pull together a burger of my own making and get everything put away while it cooks. The aroma fills the air of my tiny cabin, so when it’s cooked and ready, my stomach is pitching a fit and there’s likely drool running down my chin.
I take a big bite, grimacing because it’s nowhere near as good as Otis’s. He must use some kind of spice mix or something, because the salt and pepper I used just isn’t cutting it. I’ll have to ask him what I’m doing wrong the next time I make my way down there.
