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Back in her apartment, Miss Weathers was leaning up against the door and trying not to hyperventilate. She had literally run from one elevator to the other and jabbed at the button until the doors closed. That was him!!
She had literally run into him as he came off the elevator, spoken to him, felt his words creep down her spine and send shivers through her body. Her fingers were still numb. What was he that he held that kind of power in his voice?
Gingerly she touched her light trench coat where he'd caught her by the shoulders to keep her from falling. She pulled the jacket off and held the front of it up to her nose and breathed deep. Jesus he smelled good. Clean, but spicy, a completely male scent that warmed her down to her toes and fogged her mind.
Was she crossing the line into obsession? Somehow, she didn't think so. She hadn't taken anything of his, she had only written letters to him and left them at his door. And he had written her back, so he wasn't offended.
"With Hope, he said. Ahh Quills, he signed it with Hope and said that I am what gets him through the day!" The cream calico cat that had ambled out of the kitchen simply yawned and meowed at her with a bored look on it's face.
She stepped around him and headed to the writing desk in her bedroom. Once settled down, she took out a piece of paper and opened up one of the cubbies on the desk. There she pulled out the blown glass fountain pen and the small jar of liquid ink. The liquid sloshed against the inside, leaving deep velvety purple streaks that glimmered in the light. Most of her friends thought she was a cornball for using ink and fountain pens like the writers of old times did, but she thought it was classy and a just a bit on the whimsy side. Besides, the ink smelled good enough to be used as a perfume.
With her blood thrumming in her veins as she set to writing out another letter to Frank, she hummed a soft tune to herself.
Across the open courtyard, reclining back against his headboard, Frank was reading the latest letter from 'Hope'. However, he felt himself time and again distracted by the mental image of the woman he'd run into coming off of the elevator. Questions nagged at him and left him with even more questions. Was that Hope? If it was, why did she run? Why was she in tears? What if he wasn't all that she'd dreamed him up to be? What if she realized she'd made a mistake?
"Only one way to find out, Donovan." he said softly. That being, he slid off the bed and pulled out another piece of paper. But, before he sat down to write, he thought of something else.
He turned towards the bedroom and slowly walked in. He reached for the lights and made sure that everything was dark before he walked to the window. His dark eyes searched all of the windows facing his. Several of them were lit but most were not. Those that were lit, he peered at intently one by one. She had to be in the building, he knew it deep down. But which window was hers?
As she sat writing, she felt the hair on the back of her neck creep up. She usually got that feeling when someone had snuck up on her at work when her back was turned. Looking up, she slowly looked around the room to make sure she was alone. Of course she was, she hadn't let anyone in. Her pale green eyes widened as they lit on the window. Without thinking, she reached up and turned the lamp off that sat on her desk.
Frank frowned. One of the lights just flicked off as he moved his eyes over to it. He'd seen someone sitting with his or her back to the window. When he got a good clear look, he saw dark red hair that was pinned back in spiral curls. The woman stiffened and looked around then hastily turned off the lamp. Was that Hope's apartment?
"Oh give it a rest Donovan." he growled to himself. There was way too much of his brain making fun of himself going on. Shaking his head, he turned and reached for the lights before sitting down at his desk to write his letter.
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