Page 8 of Serenity & the Hermit
And it’s while he escorts me to the exam room, shooting daggers and growls at anyone who dares laugh at my name that I realize this man is very special indeed. He may have laughed, but there’s no way he’s letting anyone else laugh at my expense. Suddenly, I’m not angry at him anymore. I’m enamored.
NELSON
Fanny Longbottom the first was a British shoemaker who emigrated to the US after losing her husband to the war, hoping to find a better life for her children away from the crowded streets of London. Moving from simple cobbler through to manufacturer, her company was eventually swallowed up by one of the big shoe brands who soon moved the manufacturing process overseas, thus ending the legacy of Longbottom Shoes in America. The name, of course, lived on. And as language changed over time, what was once an honored family name passed down through generations, became a point of ridicule for the oldest daughter in every Longbottom family. One Serenity—using a series of snakebites and nipple cripples—forced her brother to vow he’d never repeat when the time came for him to name his first girl.
Hearing the history of Serenity’s family was certainly fascinating. But none of it was quite as fascinating as the woman telling the story. She was a woman at odds with her very nature, trying to be serene when she was actually filled with a fire I’d never seen in another human before. She speaks with energy and enthusiasm, but she pauses and thinks before she reacts. I have a feeling that her years on this earth—twenty-seven of them since I saw her date of birth on her chart—have taught her to dull her sparkle, and well, I have an urge to do whatever it takes to make her shine brighter than the sun.
“Do you think we can tell people the whole Fanny Longbottom thing was just a joke between you and I?” she asks when I pull up outside her house and put my truck into park. After her x-ray, the doctor fitted her with a splint that immobilized her arm and gave her painkillers before sending her home to rest. Not that she plans on partaking in the latter.
“We can tell them whatever you want. And listen, I wanna apologize again for the way I reacted earlier. You were right to call me childish. I shouldn’t have laughed.”
“No. I get it. It’s a funny name. I just wish it wasn’t mine.”
“Nelson didn’t really win me any friends since kids loved yelling ‘Haha!’ at me like that Simpsons character, but the bigger I got, the less they had the courage to continue with the joke. Have you considered changing it to Serenity legally?”
“Well, yeah. But I was hoping to do that after I got married so I could take my husband’s name at the same same. Two birds and all that…”
My brow quirks at her words, and my heart deflates. “Husband? You’re…engaged?”
Her eyes go wide then she giggles and shakes her head. “Oh god no. No one has ever put up with me long enough to take on the moniker of boyfriend. So I’m as single and they come, I’m afraid.”
I scratch the back of my head to avoid doing a fist pump. Then I freeze.No one has ever???
“That can’t possibly be true,” I end up blurting out, causing her to look at me and frown.
“That I’m single?”
“No. That you’ve never had a boyfriend.”
That just causes her to laugh even harder. But I’m not joking, so I just sit quietly and wait for her to calm down. FYI, she’s beautiful when she laughs. Especially when a little snort escapes before she covers her mouth and realizes I’m serious.
“Oh,” she says as she lowers her hand back down to her lap. “You really meant that, didn’t you? You seriously don’t understand why I’ve never had a boyfriend?”
“No. I genuinely don’t. I mean—not to come off creepy or anything—but from where I’m sitting you have a lot of appealing qualities.” My eyes graze down the length of her body as my mind wills my dick to stay calm and quiet. She’s soft and round exactly where a woman should be, and my hands ache to grip her by the waist and hold tight to her pillowy middle while I…
My eyes fly to her face, and I clear my throat before that thought can gain any more traction. But let’s just say that I could get lost in those curves of hers for days.
“Well, Mr. Valentine, you’d be the first man to say such a thing. Which leads me to believe that you’re either saying it just to be kind to me. Or that you’ve spent so much time up the mountain in that cabin of yours that you’ve forgotten what regular women look like. I am very much on the plus side, and I have a feeling my personality is a little bigger than life as well. I tend to get told I’m a bit… much.”
My brow knits in confusion. “From where I’m sitting there ain’t a bit of evidence that backs up your words, Serenity. Besides, I reckon I’m about twice your size. So if you’re too much, then what the hell do you call me?”
It’s her turn to knit her brow as her eyes travel over my massive frame, spanning my shoulders, my chest, arms and thighs, like she’s drawing an outline of me with her eyes. Then her lips part and her cheeks turn pink as she returns to my face and takes a quick intake of breath. “Beautiful. I think I’d call you beautiful,” she says in a rush before she turns and opens the door, jumping out of the truck before I even have a chance to absorb what she just said.
She thinks I’m beautiful?What the hell? I don’t think anyone has ever called me that before. Huge, giant, scary, menacing—yes. But Beautiful? Never.
“Hey, wait up,” I call after her, scrambling to get out the truck and follow her. I can’t let her get away from me that easy.
SERENITY
“What are you doing? You’re supposed to rest,” Nelson says from inside my tiny kitchen when I walk out of my bedroom with my laptop under my good arm.
“I have a grand opening tomorrow,” I say as I maneuver myself onto the chair. “I have to rework my routines so I can still lead classes.”
Nelson sighs as he puts the wooden spoon he was using to make spaghetti sauce on a small plate next to the stove. I had planned to just order a pizza to eat while I work, but he insisted on sticking around and cooking--something he's been doing while humming, which is a far cry from the grumpy, growly guy I met outside the post office earlier today. Why, anyone witnessing this particular scene would think the story of how I hurt my shoulder was a big ole fib. The man standing in my kitchen right now does not seem capable of pulling a gun on anyone, let alone being grumpy.
“The doctor prescribed rest,” he says gently, filling a glass from the faucet then moving around the counter to stand beside me. “And pain killers.” He holds out his palm with two white capsules in it, then hands me the water with the other.
“Thank you,” I say, taking them from him and swallowing them down.
