The Watcher (5 page)

*****

Lily

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 40+ hours a week and going to school full time really drained 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 our most recent conversations came back to me, the more I realized this wasn’t working.

I jumped into the shower and quickly washed and rinsed then threw on my less ratty yoga pants and a hoodie and headed out for coffee. I grabbed my Kindle and my journal, 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 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 7 a.m. 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 O.K. 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 told me his real name 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?

Ha-ha, 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 MB20, 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 Maracle.” God, the way he said my full 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 the jokiness 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 would stir sparks.

“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, ummm,” 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 took 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 35, 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 maybe 26 or 27 -- just young enough so that we probably have nothing in common. Well, except for music.
He looked at me and said, “Wow I would have guessed 26 or 27.”

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

“Nope, guess again.”

“Ok fine, make me feel worse,” I laughed, “You’re really 23 or 24 aren’t you?”

“42,” 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.

“Scouts honor,” he said, “42. 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 mused.

“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.

“Ok 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 6-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 smirked. 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?”

“This Friday, actually. I’ll be playing at The Secret Word at 10.”

“I’m there,” I said quickly. I really need to learn to hold things in, I thought to myself.

Why was I so excited anyway? This guy had followed me, stared at me, 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.

“Ok 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, “Ok, 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 famous writer!”

“You’re a writer? 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 was 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