Locked In Love by Louisa Line (7)

It’s been two days since I placed my order for my ‘new hobby’ and as the time for my delivery approaches, I find myself glued to my window seat awaiting the arrival of my delivery man. Taking a look at my watch I realise that there’s still a while to go before he is due, so I start to plan what to say to him. I ponder making myself a cup of tea while I wait, but realise since I already feel like I need the toilet that probably isn’t the best idea. There is no way I plan on missing what he looks like today. I check my watch again and feel disappointed when I discover only a couple of minutes have passed. I decide not to be silly and make my way to the bathroom. Taking my time washing my hands, I wander back to my window seat, checking my watch again. Really? Only another five minutes? This is the longest half hour of my life and that’s seriously saying something when you have been confined to four walls for the last year. I sit and people watch and get lost in my imagination until I hear the ringing of my phone. Looking at my watch I realise my delivery is due any minute and seriously consider just letting it ring. By the sixth or seventh ring I begin to panic. What if it’s something important? What if… I don’t finish that thought as I rush over to the phone and grab it before it rings again.

“Hello.”

“Hello, is that Miss Wentworth?”

“Yes. How can I help?” Please don’t be a sales call I think to myself

“We are just ringing to inform you that your delivery driver is running a little late today so won’t be with you till about four,” the friendly voice tells me down the line.

“Oh, OK.” It’s hard to hide my disappointment as I thank the person on the phone and hang up. Great, so now I have another hour to kill. I guess I’ll make a start on my washing pile.

With the washing on, I decide to do something I haven’t done in a while. Taking out my Kindle I start to read. I used to love romances before this all happened, but it’s hard to get into them when you don’t believe a ‘happy ever after’ will ever happen to you. I look through the online store and settle on a new book by one of my favourite authors and quickly find myself getting lost in the pages. So lost that I completely lose track of time and the next thing I hear is my intercom buzzing, pulling me back into the here and now. I quickly look at my watch and realise it’s just a little after four. I rush over to the intercom and then take a minute to compose myself. I’m not so sure it helps as when I answer I sound out of breath.

“Hello.”

“Hello Jessica.” Oh, wow, just two words and I’m already captivated.

“Hi Steve. I’ve taken up baking!” I plant my head firmly in my hands as I shake it. Really, why am I incapable of saying something normal when I am around him? I’m acting like a giddy teenager. I know I’m out of practice, but really?

“That’s nice,” I hear through a chuckle, “Shall I bring it up?”

“I’ll buzz you in.” I’ve given up on trying to sound cute, or funny or even sexy. Just normal is hard for me right now, so I decide to go with that. It’s then I remember the note I wrote in response to his the other day and quickly rush to the door, throwing it outside before darting back in to the house before I can even think of panicking about having the door open.

Just as the door closes behind me I hear the elevator door open and breathe a huge sigh of relief. There is no way I can face seeing him yet. Just writing the note and not throwing it away had taken all of my willpower and breathing techniques. I hear the footsteps making their way to the door and the box being placed outside. I even hear the crinkle of the paper before I hear the footsteps disappear back down the hall. I wait for the familiar sound of the elevator doors closing before I make my way over to the door and peek through the peep hole to ensure the coast is clear. When I see that the hallway is empty I open the door to find my box of baking goods and a small piece of paper folded up on top of it. A fluttering starts in my stomach as I take the goods and the note into the house. I unfold the note, totally forgetting the shopping on the floor and begin to read.

The first thing I notice are the two kisses. This has got to be good, right? I read over the note again and decide it is good. As I am writing a reply, the intercom buzzes once more. I pick up the phone and listen to the other end.

“I can’t tell you all my secrets Jessica. But you are never far from my thoughts.”

It takes me a minute to process what he is referring to and then I remember the note I left him asking him what thoughts he had about me. Again, I’m grinning as I think about how to reply. It’s then I remember the note in my hand.

“It’s a good distraction. I was hoping you would be my delivery driver today,” I reply anxiously waiting for his response.

“I do this area every day except Thursdays, that’s my day off. Just so you know.”

“And why might I want to know that?” In my head, I sound like I’m flirting. I just hope it comes across in my actual voice.

“So you get a good service,” he responds in a slightly flirtatious way, emphasising ‘Good Service.’ My head fills with many images at this, as I imagine what services I would like Steve to perform for me and my whole body starts warming up ending right between my legs, where an excited pulse waits to be satisfied.

“I’ve got my shopping!” I blurt out, feeling totally out of my depth having not done this whole flirting thing for well over a year and even then, I wasn’t that good at it.

“I’ll come up then,” is his response. I push the buzzer to let him in and then feeling brave, scribble on a piece of paper, ‘You make a great distraction.’ Quickly throwing it through the letter box I dash back from the door as I hear the elevator doors open. I don’t realise I’ve been holding my breath until I hear a faint knock on my door. I let it all out in a quick breath as my breathing goes into overdrive. I want to move and open the door, but my legs won’t cooperate. Panic sets in as I realise I can’t open the door and then the doubts start screaming in my head.

“I can’t do this, I’m sorry,” I shout, “I can’t open the door.” I hear the panic in my voice and know I have blown it and possibly my one chance of happiness. I collapse on the floor, tears spilling down my face.

“It’s OK, Jessica. I understand. Don’t answer the door, just talk to me.” I want to. I really want to, but even breathing is a struggle now as a full-on panic attack starts to take over me.

“I’m sorry,” is all I can blurt out before I am overcome with fear and emotions as loud sobs start to escape.

“Jessica, it’s OK. I’m not going to push you into anything you’re not ready for.” With that, I hear the letterbox rattle and then footsteps retreating down the hall until finally the elevator arrives and I know the best thing that could have happened to me in a very long time has just walked away. Possibly forever.

I’m not sure how long I have been sat crumpled on the floor, but I know it’s been long enough for my tears to have dried and my legs to have cramped. I just feel empty and once again wish I could just be normal, to be able to step outside the flat and do what normal people do. Leaving the shopping by the front door, disgusted with myself for my weaknesses, I kick the bag for good measure and the contents spill out onto the floor leaving an array of goods, now including several broken eggs. I don’t really care but figure I had better clean it up if I don’t want to be known as the hermit with the stinking house. So I go and collect my cleaning products and make a start on mopping up what remains of six large eggs. It’s during this clean up that I spot a piece of paper on the mat and remember the letterbox making a noise before Steve left. I look at the note but hesitate to pick it up. Do I really want to know what it says? I’m definitely not in the right place for a rejection right now, so leave it sat on the mat. I decide to have a bath as I now have copious amounts of egg shell and whites over me.

After my bath, I’m feeling a little better, but still not up to reading my note as I have now convinced myself that it is bad news. I pick it up but leave it sat on the side and decide what I really need is an early night. While I’m in bed I can pretend that today worked out totally differently to how it actually did.

Waking up some time later in a cold sweat, the dream still vivid in my mind, only this time it’s a little different. This time, instead of me trying to get to the person on the other side, the person is trying to get to me, but no matter how many doors they open they never seem to get any closer to reaching me. I know sleep won’t come back to me for a while, so I wander into the kitchen to make myself some Camomile tea. As I go past the folded paper still sitting on the side, a sudden jolt of anger hits. ‘Why me?’ replays in my head over and over again.

Once the kettle has boiled, I pour my drink and make my way into the lounge. Looking at the clock I realise it’s nearly four in the morning and I know for certain that I won’t be getting back to sleep. For some reason, my body clock won’t allow it. I’ve been like this ever since I was younger. I go over to the sofa and put the television on quietly, but as I flick through the channels I realise that there really is nothing worth watching. As always, I don’t know why I bothered since I’m not really a sit and watch telly kind of person. I never have been. Even the music channels have nothing but clubbing tunes or love songs and to be honest I’m not really in the mood for either. I switch off the telly and throw the controller down on the sofa, picking up my Kindle, that was discarded earlier, and try to read for a bit, but the romance just doesn’t have the same flare it had this afternoon so I shut it down and sit in silence.

Moving my head so I can see the note, I start to drum my fingers on my cup. I already know what it’s going to say, so why don’t I just get it over and done with. Rip off the plaster as they say. I toy with the idea, nibbling on my lip as I always do when I have to think about something. Sod it! I get up and make my way over to the note.

I’m in reaching distance when I change my mind and walk back to the sofa. I do this several more times before I finally have the courage to pick it up and move back to the sofa placing the note on its arm.

I mentally kick myself for being so silly. It is only a note after all. How bad can it be? A sudden flash back to this afternoon creeps into my head and I push the paper off the arm and onto the floor.

Half an hour later I finally have the note in my hand. I have convinced myself that it is better just to get it over and done with so I can get on with what little life I have. Oh, and maybe change my delivery day to Thursdays when Steve doesn’t work.

I carefully unfold the paper and start to read.

I read the note twice more convinced that, since I am tired, I must be reading it wrong. What’s worth waiting for? My cooking? I really don’t think so and surely he’s not talking about me, as I know I’m not. I know one thing though; I had better get in the kitchen and start baking!

I’d been in the kitchen for over three hours and I still wasn’t happy with what I had produced. If I am going to impress anyone with my cooking I know I am going to have to do a lot better than the sticky mess I currently have in my bowl. I chose biscuits as I thought they were easy when I looked at the recipe, but now I’m not so sure. I am down to my last few eggs, thanks to my earlier tantrum and now it is all or nothing. I throw away the gooey mess and started again. Once I finally have a mix of the consistency I need for rolling I roll it out and then go to my drawer to see what cutters I have, if any. I root around and finally find a Christmas tree cutter that I must have got from some housekeeping magazine or something and decide it’s the best I’m going to get. So, I cut out my shapes, place them in the oven and set my timers for twelve minutes. I decide now would be a good time to grab a quick shower so I head for the bathroom. Just as I reach the door the phone starts to ring. Wondering who it could be this early in the morning and thinking it’s probably work I decide I had better answer.

“Hello,” rushes out of my mouth since I want this call to end quickly since I’m still waiting on my biscuits. I was also looking forward to my shower to wash the stickiness off my body from the cooking.

“Oh Jess, I’m so glad to hear your voice.” I recognise Claire’s voice, even though something about it sounds a bit off.

“Claire? Are you OK?”

“Sorry to call so early. I’ve just been so sick the last few days and really needed to hear from someone who cares.”

“Really, but you’re never sick,” I reply, concerned as I wonder what could possibly be wrong. Claire doesn’t even get colds!

“There has been a stomach bug going around work. I guess I had to run out of luck one day.”

“Oh, poor you,” I say and really mean it. For someone who is never physically ill, it really can’t be nice, “Do you need anything?”

“Just someone to chat to,” she replies weakly and I begin to worry about keeping her on the phone too long so we just start to chat about fairly mundane, boring stuff.

“So, what’s happening with your delivery man?” she queries. Well, she did ask, so I launch into telling her everything that’s happened over the last few days. As I finish up explaining about the note he left yesterday, I hear the timer going off in the kitchen.

“I’ll be right back,” I say as I leap up and go into the kitchen to remove my biscuits from the oven. They look OK so I don’t think much more about them as I leave them on the side and go back to my call. “Sorry about that,” I say when I return.

“Where did you go?”

“I had to remove the biscuits from the oven,” I respond, not really thinking about it.

“Since when did you bake?” I could hear the shock in her voice and realised I had forgotten to mention that part of my story. I was far more excited about the notes and any hidden meaning that might be behind them.

“Since Steve wrote that he wants to try my baked goods,” I reply and then hear a small chuckle down the line.

“I’m not sure he meant your cooking, Jess!” With that, we both burst out laughing and the rest of the conversation consists of us making silly innuendoes to each other out of everything we say. By the time we hang up Claire tells me she is feeling much better. Before I get on with my day though, I take out my laptop, look up the local florist and order a bouquet to be delivered to Claire’s house in the hope that it will cheer her up even more. It’s nice to know that even as far away as we are from each other, a phone call can still make all the difference.