44. Serenity
Chapter forty-four
Serenity
T hings are going really well with Declan. I wasn't entirely sure what to expect, but for the past month, I've woken up to a "good morning, beautiful" text and fallen asleep to a "goodnight, beautiful" text. We text little updates throughout our day - dumb little things just to let the other know we're thinking of them. Candid pictures of Magda and Joseph, what he had for breakfast, a text to remind me to eat. And of course, our daily runs together.
I'm sleeping better now that I've adjusted to the new apartment, and Ella, and my classes started this week. I'm anxious about learning anything and passing with my ADHD, but now that I'm not content just to survive it, but to thrive with ADHD, I'm determined to find a method or system that will help me. Declan's offer to pay for a therapist is also in the back of my mind if I find myself struggling again.
I take the bus to work, letting myself in with the key Madame gave me. I like to get here early because waiting in my apartment with nothing to do when I know I have to be here at five is painful. It'd rather get here hours early and double check the inventory or rooms than wait around.
So, it surprises me when I walk into The Green room and find a gift and a bouquet of greens and soft blue flowers. I look around for some sort of clue as to who it's for before I see him.
Declan lounges easily on one of the leather couches against the wall. His ankle is crossed on one of his knees and his commanding body language has my blood heating. I want to run to him, to hold him, kiss him, tell him much I miss him. Instead, he nods to the presents on the bar.
"For me?" I sign since he's so far away.
He nods again.
A giddy excitement tickles my chest as I pick up the bouquet and bring it to my nose. It smells faintly floral, but not overwhelming. I hug it to my chest before setting it down again and picking up the present. Just holding it I know it's a book. I rip it open to find Bound By Desire, one of my favorite books. It's clearly my own copy, the wear on the corners familiar. I leaf it open, and a paper falls out.
I dip down and scoop it up, intrigued.
It's a book review paper, with Declan's messy handwriting outlining the tropes, the meet cutes, some spicy phrases and a "hated the third act break up" written in the notes. Happy tears prick my eyes as I pull the book against my chest.
He read my book.
He read a silly romance book.
And made notes about it.
My lower lip trembles as my eyes meet his across the empty room.
I want to ask him why. I want to know what he thought about the book. I want to hold him.
Instead, I square my shoulders, sign "thank you" and find a pitcher to fill with water to keep my flowers alive until I can get them back to the apartment after my shift.
What I didn't expect, though, is to find a new book, with a bouquet of flowers that match the color scheme of the cover, wrapped and waiting for me on the bar every night. And every night I read his notes and comments and hold them tightly against me like the most precious gifts I've ever received.
Because they are.