Page 68 of David's Proposal

The kitchen window would give me a glimpse into a warm, cozy space. Someone would be home. Or I would be home, waiting for someone.

And then we’d be together, chatting around the table and drinking wine, tea, or coffee.

We’d eat cookies or some freshly cooked food.

We’d have a dog, a cat, or a bunny.

Or maybe nothing just yet.

Maybe he’d hold my hand and invite me into the bedroom, and some old music would play in the house, and he’d light candles while I would fuss over some minor thing, like what lingerie to wear.

His kisses would be warm and trustful, and I’d get quickly in the mood. And when he had me, there would be no second guessing, and no tension or unresolved issues.

We’d go from that to maybe dancing and kissing again, unstoppable, still thirsty.

And later, we’d go to sleep and do it without worry, knowing that our life together has continuity.

I look up and down the street, biting my lip and trying to push down the lump in my throat.

This can be such a rollercoaster.

Throughout the evening, my emotions swayed from giddiness to satisfaction to letdown to amusement, and now this?

Suddenly shivering with cold, I step in the direction of my house.

It’s still dark, not warm or cozy, and not ready for a story like that.

It speaks of loneliness and dullness. The least I could do about it is decorate this space for Halloween.

I unlock the door and push inside.

Moments later, I close and lock the door, slide off my heels, clean them, and take them to the closet before shrugging off my jacket and glancing in the mirror.

Red patches mar my skin.

The traces of his touch are the only proof this evening happened.

Mechanically I pick up my robe and move to the bathroom.I shower, step out, and pat myself dry before tossing my fluffy, oversized robe on.

That hotel was nice, I muse, heading to the kitchen.

My place is cold. but I don’t bother to adjust the thermostat.

I make myself a cup of tea and scour the fridge for cold cuts and cheese to make a sandwich.

I eat, standing, my sandwich clutched in one hand, and my phone gripped in the other.

I run a quick search online to learn more about the Blue Candlelight hotel.

One thing leads to another, and more information surfaces.

“What?” I murmur around my food. “What the fuck?”

I put the sandwich down and read the information.

The hotel is part of the Sexton Business Empire.

Should I be surprised? No.

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