Underneath is a huge stack of various colors of leather bound books.
Carefully, one-by-one, I pull out each book and flip through the pristine, crisp, mint condition pages. Completely flabbergasted by the quality of these works. Edgar Allen Poe first editions, four volumes.
A tear trickles down my cheek, feeling overwhelmed to have my hands on something so amazing. Pressing the leather to my nose, I inhale its heady vintage scent, committing it to memory. As I empty the box completely I am left with such a warmed heart I think I might explode from so much happiness. Sixteen first edition books, mint condition, a collection worth tens of thousands of dollars. The Poe is among the first editions, as is the Divine Comedies Dante’s Inferno, Moby Dick, Little Women and many others.
In the bottom of the box sits a white envelope and I open it.
To my Angel,
These are some of the finest books I know you would love. Please accept these as a gift. They were some of my most prized possessions and now they will be yours.
All my love,
Suit Master
Throwing the card on the ground next to the box, I stand and dash up my wooden staircase and into my bedroom. Grabbing my phone off the stand, I pull up his number and press send. It rings once and sends me to voicemail. I hang up and call back again. It does the same thing. On the third try, I give up and decide I will leave a message.
Hello, Lex, you’ve reached the Suit Master. If you would like to leave me a message, please do so. I would love to hear your voice. If not, I’m sure I’ll be seeing you very soon.
A recording states. Not his voice.
-beep-beep-beep-
“For the love of God, you even made your voicemail greeting me. Are you crazy? Obviously, you are for sending me thousands of dollars’ worth of books to my house, which I love by the way. But they are way too much to accept. Please take them back. Thank you for them and for the roses and the drinks. But I don’t want to date you. Just go away.”
I hit end and dive stomach first onto my already made bed. Burying my face into the mattress I scream and pound my fists, exceedingly frustrated, until my lungs hurt and my phone beeps.
Turning my face to the side, I pull my phone into view.
Suit Master: I’m not taking them back. They are now yours, my Angel. You’re welcome for the gifts. That is just the beginning. And no, I’m not going anywhere. I tried to play this your way with the online dating profile. The ball is now in my court, and I’m doing this the way I want. Just like I should have years ago.
Me: Years ago?
I swallow hard.
Suit Master: Good things come to those who wait.
Me: Why are you so cryptic?
Suit Master: I didn’t think you liked me telling you so much about myself. Scared you off the first time, so I’m trying a new approach.
Me: What approach is that? Creepy stalker?
Suit Master: No.
Me: Then what?
Suit Master: It’s for me to know and you to find out.
Me: So now you’re a kindergartener?
Suit Master: Only do what your heart tells you.
Arg!!! He is frustrating!!
Me: What does that mean?
Suit Master: It means what it says, Lex. I’m listening to mine. Are you listening to yours?
That’s it! I’m finished talking with him. He’s impossible! Sounds like somebody else I know; Roni or Gage, both equally as frustrating.
Tossing my phone on my nightstand, I head downstairs, pick up the books from the floor in my foyer and gently carry them into my office that’s off the kitchen. Stacking the books on the shelves, among the hundreds of others I have. My office isn’t like anything most people have seen before. It has a giant window with a bench seat to read on. I have a small mahogany desk with a vintage green reading lamp, a wooden rolling chair. The walls are built in bookshelves from floor to ceiling and there’s a silver chandelier suspended in the middle of the room. Most rooms in my house have a chandelier. They are classy, elegant and timeless, kind of an addiction for me.
Walking back into the kitchen I grab the ice cream from the freezer, caramel sauce off the butcher-block countertop, rainbow sprinkles and coconut from the cabinet and carry it all into the living room with a spoon and a napkin. Plopping down on my couch, I turn on the TV and White Chicks on the DVD player. Curling into a ball, I throw my blanket over my legs and dive into my rocky road.
I’m definitely not leaving the house today.
“Lex.” Somebody nudges my arm. “Lex!”
“Uh?” I mumble, rolling onto my back and stretching my arms above my head as I force my eyes that are matted with sleep, to open.
“You had me worried. You weren’t answering my calls.” Lincoln says, looming over me, next to the couch in his uniform.
“I’m sorry.” I croak, running my tongue over my teeth. My mouth feels nasty. I need to brush my teeth.