Before long, her overworked friend has strung together the letters:eilsalohcinelcnu. Her head tilts to the side, she erases, then rewrites the nonsensical characters, but inverted.Unclenicholaslie.Almost there. She feverishly removes and modifies the letters with spaces in the right places.Uncle Nicholas Lie.I send her exhausted friend one more message before I go back to focusing on the screen, where Cindel lies in bed.
The Stalker: You need to tell her. Before it’s too late.
Andrea’s wild eyes bounce around the room, like I’m hiding in a corner.
Sorry… you’ll never find the cameras. Her overworked form can barely stand, as she initiates searching the room. She’s going to crash hard at some point. Rest easy comrade, I’ll take over the next watch.
I never got presents for Christmas, or any holiday for that matter. If I ever did, I’m sure I would have been sneaking peeks every chance I got. That’s how I feel right now, as I watch Cindel dress and ready to meet me at the boathouse.
After showering, she pulls on a cropped shirt, form fitting skirt, her usual boots, and a bomber jacket. I rewind the footage just to confirm, the naughty little minx didn’t bother putting any underwear on. Fuck, I am already hard. No self-control when it comes to surprises…. so eager to sink into her after waiting for what feels like a lifetime.
Before Cindel is scheduled to arrive, I let myself into the festively lit boathouse to arrange everything the way I want. A sign hangs on the front entrance:closed for the season. Wintery conditions make it difficult for anyone to navigate the water, so they aren’t open to the public during these colder months. An ideal playground for this very occasion.
Paddle Boston is decorated accordingly, lit up with colored lights and holiday wreaths, as are many homes and businesses in the area. I easily pick the lock of the side door and get busy rearranging the space. The wind over the lake makes the outside air to feel closer to thirty degrees, so our tentative walk around the property will have to be more of a brief meander, on the dock within the boathouse.
First on the agenda, create a space warm enough for Cindel and I. The boathouse is designed for storing all kinds of water vessels. Although it’s enclosed, it is still considered an ‘outside structure,’ hovering just above the lake. Kayaks are secured in rows along the wall, while two covered boats are winterized andsuspended high above the water. The dimly lit room has so much potential, especially with all the entertaining pulleys and wooden rafters at my disposal. I locate an electric patio heater and switch on the tower to begin warming an area, away from the open water.
Tonight needs to be perfect, just like her.
I collect two strands of white lights from shaped topiaries just outside the building and string them between trusses. It’s not my best work, but time is passing too quickly, otherwise I would have wrapped the beams for a cleaner look.
Unpacking the small basket which I brought along, I lay out a blanket, wine glasses, a charcuterie board of cut meats and cheeses, and a bottle of Moscato; since she always likes things on the sweeter side. I checked the space before I committed to bringing my girl here, so I already know most of what I need is on hand. I’m curious if she is familiar with Shibari; a Japanese art form of rope bondage. If not, she will be after tonight.
Keeping my identify hidden up until this point was necessary, tonight however, I relinquish the helmet and tactical vest. I’m still covered, but not for long. I still can’t believe she thought I was Eamon. It makes me wonder though, if he has ever considered being with her; would they have made a better match? I shake the radical idea from my mind. Nope. Fuck that. I don’t have any qualms with Eamon, but I would have killed him if he took what he was doing any further. It’s bad enough he kissed her. I know he didn’t do it willingly, but I still plan to punish him for it later.
His father Patrick is playing him like a marionette. Mairead, on the other hand, is more of a danger to Cindel. She’s unpredictable and quick to react when her feelings come in to question. Once, I witnessed her floss a guy's teeth with one of her many petite blades, just because he ate one too many slicesof her pizza. I felt queasy trying to floss my teeth the rest of that whole week.
A soft knock on the side door shakes me from the disturbing flashback. Crossing the hollow space, I open the door to find Cindel dressed exactly as expected, only without her usual smile. She moves into the boathouse one step at a time, eyes roaming the unfamiliar space. She’s unusually quiet. She locates a source of warmth and immediately starts toward the heater. I watch warily as she studies the room, her face scowling at the doctored lights that hang among the rafters.
I look from the lights to her. Fuck, did I really do that shitty of a job?
She folds her arms over her chest. “Did you put those up?”
I bow my head, cautious that any wrong movements could frighten her away. “I hate Christmas,” she declares, finally facing my direction.
I tilt my head slightly, hoping she’ll elaborate as to why.
“Theo died just after Christmas. I despise the lights and festive trees, basically anything that reminds me of that time.” She turns away and commences rubbing her hands together, near the warming tower.
Fuck. How did I not realize this? Without a second thought, I take a running jump to grasp the string of lights and tug them down in one swift motion. Just as hastily, I wrap them in a ball and store them beneath a nearby tarp.
Her face slowly brightens and I can already tell she appreciates the gesture. “You said you’d show me a dark secret, is it about the message you sent Andrea?”
I stride toward her, my weight causing the floating wooden floor to creak with each step. I’m having trouble keeping my distance from this angel in front of me. I motion for her to sit on the floor where the blanket lay. She stands before me unmovingand quirks an eyebrow. Soon I realize my poor planning, not accounting for her pencil skirt.
Holding up my index finger, I jog up a set of wooden stairs before grabbing two folding chairs from the narrow loft above. Returning to the mock picnic, I unfold the chairs, ahead of spotting a giant wooden spool that could act as a makeshift table. Flipping the spool on its side, I roll it next to the blanketed area and arrange the items I brought onto the circular surface. Now, we have a proper table setting.
Shaking out the sheet, I relay it down beside us, basket within reach. I have so much in store for her this evening, but all in good time.
I pull out one of the chairs for Cindel, because I am, in fact, a gentleman. I hold it in place as she comes down to sit. Her mahogany waves cascade down her back. I can’t help but stare as I make my way around the makeshift table and sit in the adjacent seat.
She pushes her hair behind her right ear revealing what a good girl she is. Wearing the earbud with the Sharpie star shows how she’s become familiar with me, aware I’ll use it to communicate with her. It’s so much more intimate when I can whisper in her ear.
Despite the heat source, Cindel is still shivering. My attention lingers longer than I had anticipated on her thin shirt, David Bowie’s face nestled between raised nipples. Regardless of the goggles, she knows exactly what I am staring at.
Looking up through long lashes, she reaches across the table for a grape. Gradually she presses the fruit into her mouth, pausing just as the round green food creates an “O” with her lips. Tease. She knows exactly what she is doing.
We watch each other wordlessly from across the impromptu dining table, her savoring each morsel of cheese and prosciutto, while I long to be the object that makes her mouth water.
