The Watcher Series Volume # 1: Falling

by Rhiannon Jean

  I changed into my ratty yoga pants and old college tank top and turned off the light. I had grabbed the business card and made myself comfy amidst the pillows, blankets, and kitties. I pulled out the card and put it in the light from my phone. It was blank, save for a single phone number. There was no name, no business, nothing. I wondered if this was a joke. I thought back to the way he had gently brushed away my tears and how he had known I wasn’t ready to go home yet. He was so calming and so caring. This couldn’t be a joke, right?

  I took a deep breath and typed it into my phone. I put, “made it home ok,” in the text area. Should I say something else? I had no idea if this was even him. I pressed send, held my breath, and just waited. It seemed he had an iPhone, as the typing symbol popped up. Good sign!

  “Took you long enough,” popped up on my screen. YES! It was him. Whew. I smiled and wondered if he had missed me. I started typing my reply.

  “Thank you again for everything. You saved my life tonight. I shudder to think what might have happened if you weren’t nearby.”

  “You’re welcome.” It would seem he wasn’t much of a talker. I had no idea what to say next, so I just waited.

  He typed, “Did you fall asleep?”

  “LOL no, just don’t want to say anything else that will make my face turn bright red.”

  “Lily?”

  “Yes?”

  “I can’t see you ;)”

  “Oh, well, ha ha.” I was so nervous and had no idea why. This guy was a complete stranger. I was an overweight receptionist with a sorry excuse for a husband drooling on the couch, who spent her days typing memos and editing other people’s work. There was nothing appealing about me whatsoever. This would most likely be the last I’d ever hear from this guy.

  “I don’t know your name,” I finally typed.

  “You will.”

  “Um, ok?”

  “Oh and Lily?”

  “Yea?”

  “I find you to be stunning as well. Sweet Dreams.”

  Chapter 6

  I woke up before dawn the next day. I was off work, having taken a personal day after finals to have some time to regroup. Working more than forty hours a week and going to school full-time was really draining me. I had planned on running errands and doing laundry and catching up on all my normal chores. I looked around and noticed that Ryan hadn’t come to bed. I was relieved. I didn’t want to deal with wondering if I should try to snuggle with him or not, especially because most mornings he didn’t even acknowledge me when I did try to cuddle. I’m pretty sure he pretended to be asleep so he wouldn’t have to touch me.

  I could tell it was one of those days where I wanted to be by myself and dream about a life that was waiting beyond the rainbow. Maybe now was a good time to have a heart-to-heart with myself about my marriage. Could I really stay married to a guy who talked to me the way he did? Who thought I was fat? Shouldn’t he love me no matter what? I remembered talking to him about love not too long ago and how marriage required unconditional love. He said he didn’t believe in unconditional love and that I was stupid if I did. The more I thought back on our most recent conversations, the more I realized this wasn’t working.

  I jumped into the shower, then threw on another pair of yoga pants and a hoodie and headed out for coffee. I grabbed my headphones and my journal on my way out the door, just in case the urge to write hit me. It hadn’t hit me in months, maybe longer. I had no drive, no muse, nothing. I used to write all the time. I’d filled journals with poetry and random trains of thought. Now, I could barely construct a complete sentence for my papers or work assignments. I’d lost my writer’s mojo. I briefly wondered if my writing mojo was tied to my sexual mojo and smiled to myself, shaking my head. All my mojos had left the building it would seem.

  I pulled into Starbucks a little after seven o’clock, and they were in full swing of the pre-workday madness. I got in line and waited. I pulled out my phone and began to scroll through my messages. Emma had texted me to make sure I had gotten home okay and I sent her a quick message letting her know I had a story for her. I added a winky face so she wouldn’t worry. I ordered my two shots over ice, three pumps of pumpkin, and room for cream, and stepped to the side to wait. My phone beeped and I was surprised that Emma was up this early. I pulled out my phone and was shocked to see “Hoodie” on my screen. That was the name I had given him, since he hadn’t given me one yet.

  “Scone?”

  “Um, what?”

  “Would you like a scone with your poor man’s latte?” My head popped up and I scanned the crowd for his hoodie. I spotted a black hoodie with the Wicked logo on the back standing in line. It was on a very tall man with dark curly hair. Oh my…he was here. I turned away before he could catch me staring.

  “How do you know my drink order? Are you stalking me?” I typed with a small smile on my face.

  “Some might call it stalking. I prefer admiring from afar.”

  I snorted and typed, “I’d love one.”

  “What, a stalker?”

  “Haha, no, a scone, pumpkin if they have it.”

  “As you wish.”

  As you wish?? Was this guy for real? Is it possible for a man to like Matchbox Twenty, Bush AND the Princess Bride?

  I spotted a table tucked into the back corner and grabbed it. I sat down, playing with my straw and hanging my head over my phone. I was still afraid to look up, afraid of the telltale blush that would give my nervousness away. A scone slid across the table, and I glimpsed the black nail polish. It was chipped, his fingernails had grease under them, and his fingers were long and beautiful. I slowly raised my head, willing my face to stay a natural color, and found myself greeted by those haunting green eyes. He had that smirk on his face again, one corner of his mouth raised up, and that dimple proudly on display.

  “Hi,” he said quietly.

  “Good morning,” I responded. “Thank you for the scone.” There, that was affable and to the point, nothing worth blushing over.

  “You’re welcome, Lily.” God, the way he said my name made my heart skip a beat and awoke a spark inside me that I had long since forgotten. THAT was enough to turn my face red. I tried to lighten up the conversation, reverting back to my jokiness that I used in uncomfortable situations.

  “I guess it would have been more polite to say thank you, stalker, huh? Since we’re on a first name basis and all.”

  He laughed, a full on, loud throaty laugh. He threw his head back, his Adam’s apple bobbing, and I couldn’t stop staring at his porcelain skin. Wow, just wow. Never had a man’s laugh sounded so beautiful. Everything about him was beautiful. Down to the chipped black nail polish. I tried not to stare at his throat and imagine things that had more of those sparks stirring.

  “I deserved that,” he said. He stuck his hand out for me to shake. I took it apprehensively and he said, “My name is Gabriel.” Before I could pull my hand away, he held it a bit tighter and studied it quietly. “You have beautiful hands, Lily, like those of a piano player.”

  I blushed again…I really need to work on this red face thing. “Thank you. My mother used to say the same thing. I’ve never played the piano, though. I played a fake organ when I was younger. Well, not fake, it was electric and small and in my grandma’s basement, but I was terrible at it. I did play the violin for a few years in school when I was young, but had to quit when we moved again.” I stopped suddenly.

  “What?” he asked.

  “I’m rambling, sorry. I do that when I’m nervous.”

  “I rather enjoyed it,” he said. “Never apologize for telling me about yourself. Why are you nervous?”

  “Oh, um,” I stuttered. No one had ever wanted to know more about me before. I don’t even think Ryan knew my mother had studied my hands when I was younger, calling them pianist hands.

  “I know nothing about you,” I said, “but here I am blabbing on about my childhood, which I’m sure is boring for you.” I nervously laughed.

  He t
ook the seat across from me and took the lid off his coffee to let it cool. “What else?”

  “Hmm?” I said as I took a big gulp of my coffee, my mouth suddenly dry.

  “What else, Lily? Tell me everything.” He took a sip of his coffee and stared at me over the top of the cup.

  “Um, everything? I think we need more than just a few minutes at a coffee shop for that,” I laughed nervously. “I mean, I’m thirty-five. I’ve lived a bit.”

  Jeez, did I just tell him my age? I had no idea how old he was, but he looked a lot younger than me, save the slight dusting of gray on his temples and in his facial hair. I was guessing mid-to-late twenties. Just young enough that we probably have nothing in common. Well, except for music.

  He looked at me and said, “Wow, I would have guessed twenty-six.”

  “Oh, ha ha, very funny,” I said. “I bet that’s how old you are, right?”

  “Nope, guess again.”

  “Okay, fine, make me feel worse,” I laughed. “You’re really twenty-three or twenty-four, aren’t you?”

  “Forty-two,” he said.

  “Yeah, right!” I exclaimed as I lightly punched him on his arm, which was hard as a rock. I wondered what else he hid under that hoodie.

  “Scout’s honor,” he said. “Forty-two. But seriously, thank you. My ego was in need of a good stroking.” Oh yeah, this is where all sorts of dirty thoughts of things of his needing stroking popped into my head. And yep, I blushed again.

  “Care to share?” he asked, seeming amused.

  “Not even a little bit,” I muttered and lowered my eyes. I had been staring again and really needed to get a hold of myself. I couldn’t do naughty jokes with this guy yet, could I? I mean, I’d known him all of five minutes.

  “Okay, Gabriel, tell me something about yourself,” I said, changing the subject.

  “Like what?” he asked.

  “What do you do for a living?” I replied. “Your business card wasn’t very forthcoming.”

  He smiled lazily, slowly, drawing my eyes to that full mouth. “I dabble,” he said. “Cars, music, restaurants.”

  “Wow, that’s quite the resume,” I said. “What type of music? Do you play an instrument or sing?”

  “Both,” he replied. “I play guitar and sing. I usually play a six-string, but I play bass a bit as well as electric sometimes.”

  “Do you play in public?”

  “Sometimes. Why? Would you like to stalk me awhile? It’s only fair,” he said with a smirk. I blushed again, as I was thinking exactly that. This guy was a mind reader.

  “I would like to hear you play sometime,” I said, trying not to smile too grandly. I didn’t want to let him know that my heart was beating quickly with excitement at the fact that I might get to see him again. “Are you playing anytime soon?”

  “Tonight, actually. I’ll be playing at The Secret Word at ten o’clock.”

  “I’m there,” I said quickly. I really need to learn to hold things in. Why was I so excited anyway…this guy had followed me, stared at me, he knew my name somehow…shouldn’t I be a little wary of him? My head said yes, but that little thing in my chest going thump-thump extraordinarily fast disagreed. That thump was telling me to go watch him perform, to live a little.

  “Okay, then,” he smirked. “I’ll save you a seat.” He sat back in his chair and put his hands behind his head. His biceps were so huge that I couldn’t help but lick my lips as thoughts of those arms around me invaded my brain. “So, tell me your life story, Lily.”

  I shook my head, trying to clear it of thoughts of his arms. “My life story? As in from the beginning?” I asked incredulously.

  He laughed quietly. “Okay, maybe not your ENTIRE life story. How about just the highlights? Like, did you grow up here? What do you do for a living? Why are you in school?”

  I smiled, thankful he hadn’t asked anything personal. “I grew up in a small town in Ohio, but moved here about two years ago. Currently, I’m an administrative assistant at a mortgage firm, and I’m in school so I can quit that job and become a super famous writer!”

  “You’re a writer? That sounds like fun. What types of things do you write?”

  “Um, well, mostly I write in my journal, but I hope to turn it into a sort of autobiography someday. I’ve written some poetry as well, but I don’t really like it.”

  “Why?” he inquired.

  “It’s a little too romantic and girly, I think. I’ve never been able to get it published outside of school, so I know it’s not that good.”

  He shook his head and took my hand in his. “Lily, poetry comes from the heart. Nothing from the heart can be terrible, especially if you are honest with your writing.”

  “Wow,” I said quietly, “I’ve never thought of it like that before. I’m always honest in my writing, maybe a little too honest. Sometimes I don’t know if I want to be published, as everything I write is so personal to me.”

  “That,” he said, “is what makes you a great writer. Do you have anything you’d feel comfortable letting me read?” He hadn’t let go of my hand and was lightly rubbing it with his thumb. I could barely concentrate on what he was saying due to the electrical shocks that were shooting up my arm and right into my heart. His eyes had turned darker and darker the longer he held my hand and I could see something akin to longing in them. Did this dark stranger feel how much he was affecting me? Did he feel the same sparks?

  I slowly removed my hand and looked down at the table. “I actually wrote something last night after we texted. I can let you read that, if you’d like?”

  “I’d love to, Lily,” he said, his voice falling over me like hot, melted caramel. There was something so incredibly sexy about how deep and quiet his voice was. I could listen to him talk all day and all night. Of course, if I was with him all night, there wouldn’t be much talking, not with hands like his! Oh, God, I needed to rein this in. I had a sneaking suspicion my sexual mojo was waking up and trying to take over the more sensible parts of my brain.

  I opened my journal to the page I had written last night. I kept my head down, afraid of blushing even more while he read. I was so nervous I could see my fingers shaking on the journal as I slid it to him. I let go quickly and pulled my hands back into my lap. I had never been this shy before, but Gabriel was bringing out all sorts of things in me that I hadn’t known existed.

  “Enjoy.” I smiled as I glanced at him. He smiled back and began to read out loud, his voice deep and soft, almost a whisper.

  “I tried to tuck you away

  Into my little dusty box of memories

  Unfortunately I ran out of room

  And your memory spilled out

  And spread over my heart

  The way spilled red wine

  Slowly creeps across

  A cold, hard linoleum floor

  Seeping into the cracks

  And inevitably staining them

  With heavy, spicy remnants

  I try to stop it from spreading

  By standing in front of the spill

  Somehow my body starts to

  Soak up your goodness

  Slightly sweet, slightly heady

  Warming my skin

  Making my toes tingle

  And stealing my breath

  Until it only comes in short gasps

  I can no longer contain you

  In this dusty little memory box

  You’ve come to life once more

  And seeped deeper

  Into my pores

  That I ever thought

  Was possible.”