“So,” she said, crossing her legs, “post?”

She stretched out a hand to take the bundle from him. A plump, light brown arm. Smooth, newly waxed skin that dimpled at the elbow. Four scars, he counted. Not neatly parallel like he’d been led to believe by numerous horror movies, but haphazardly across the back of her hand and her arm.

She was looking lazily through what he’d handed her. Envelopes, flyers, a parcel. Lazily, but sorting them out: he noticed how all the flyers went to the bottom of the bundle, the envelopes above them, the parcel… She looked down at the parcel, and he saw her eyelids smoothen as she closed her eyes with a small sigh. Hardly for a moment, before she looked up at him again and smiled, “Thank you.”

He had no reason to stay any longer: she was already picking up the book from where she’d put it down, opening it at random, ignoring the bookmark she’d put in when he’d walked into the room.

She waited till he’d left, and picked up the post. He was at work, she knew, and she didn’t want to disturb him. She ripped open the parcel and dropped the brown paper in the wastebasket; took out the books, glanced at them, and put them aside. She reached for the flyer with the stars on it…

He paused at the door of the room and turned to watch her. He welcomed the distraction from work he really didn’t want to do; he was curious too.

She looked up at him over her shoulder, smiling, her eyes twinkling behind her glasses. She held the flyer out to him, sighing as she said, “The things one has to do…” He looked at the stars on the flyer, in her eyes, outside the window, and smiled. A crooked, one-sided smile with his head cocked slightly to one side, charming, mischievous. “Why do it, then?”, he said, even as his eyes said “I know why, of course…” She laughed at that, throwing her head back, earrings dancing under her short brown hair, as his smile broadened…

There was music in their ears, roses in her hand, candles on the table, and a breeze from the window. The post lay forgotten on her lap.


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