His Young Maid: A Forbidden Boss Age Gap Romance Daisy Jane (love letters to the dead TXT) 📖

she wanted to fix what she thought was a wrong. That’s a quality you don’t see too much in twenty-year-old’s, that’s for sure. It didn’t surprise me though because she was reciting my poem, she’d thought about it and it meant something to her. Or maybe the words didn’t mean anything yet, but she was trying to figure them out. Either way, I knew she was a thoughtful soul and when I thought about her, I wanted more.

I wondered if I may hear from her throughout the day, a casual text message to confirm or say hello, but I never did, and it was the first day of my life I checked my phone often, disappointment branching out inside of me each time I saw no new messages.

After work I took a long run. I thought a few miles would feel good, help me refocus and dispel some of my pent-up energy. Four miles turned into seven and fifteen miles later, I realized it was already a quarter after six. Hopping off the treadmill, I made my way into my bedroom, excited like a teenage boy hoping to have sex on prom night. She was going to be here, I thought, toweling my neck after my shower, staring across the room at my lush bed. Jesus, I had plenty of women here, but a Mack truck couldn’t have squashed my excitement for Britta being here.

Pulling on some jeans and a t-shirt, I padded down the stairs and poured myself a whiskey. One quickly turned to two after the first did nothing to soothe my frayed nerves, but I stopped there, not wanting liquor dick to prevent us from having a perfect night together. Perfect. A term I’d not considered would be in the wheelhouse of words that described my personal life or any of my relationships. But now that I’d met Britta, it felt possible.

I tried not to stare at the clock on the wall, I tried not to glance at my watch, I tried not to look at the oven clock. But each direction I turned my head, I found the time and each one told me it was well after seven. Ten minutes past turned into twenty and anticipation quickly became nerves. Britta wasn’t a girl who’d stand me up, after all, she’d have to see me here next week when she worked. And she wanted me, maybe not me but she did want my body, and for that, I felt certain she’d return. Though she had my phone number, I realized I didn’t have hers. Just her address.

Drinking a glass of water, I pulled on my baseball hat and some sneakers and got in my car. She hadn’t come. I didn’t know her well enough yet, but something inside me told me this wasn’t normal. Something was off.

The drive to her side of town seemed to last forever and I recognized my impatience in dealing with the world while I tried to get to her. I’d never felt impatient or in a hurry to get to anyone before. Not even my ex-wife, or even Darcy. Hell, I was mostly impatient for her to leave.

The Chinese restaurant that her apartment rested on top of was alive with people, paper lanterns glowing almost magically around the arbor. The small window that belonged to her apartment was radiant, and though I didn’t know what room it led to, it gave me hope that she was home and okay.

Making my way up the stairs, I heard noises coming from outside the third floor where her cousin’s apartment was. Glancing up, Donny was there, looking down at me, a cigarette strangled between his lips.

“My man, you’re back,” he gave me a grin, and I wondered if I’d be paying him another $20 to find out what was going on with Britta. I’d pay him a million if it brought me closer to her.

“Hello, Donny,” I called up, pausing a few stairs below the second-floor landing. I’d almost made it to her door. Almost.

“You here for Britta?” he asked, taking a thick drag from the unfiltered cigarette, loose pieces of tobacco stuck to his lip. Who the hell else would I be here for? I internally retorted.

“I am,” I confirmed, and he nodded in approval, his chain clinking against the railing as he leaned forward.

“Alright then. So, did I or did I not see you?” his voice was lower and he rolled his head back towards his apartment, in acknowledgement of Melody.

“I didn’t know that not seeing me was something Melody wanted,” I admitted, and I could see confusion in his brow as he thought about what I said. “Does she not want me to come around?” I simplified.

“She doesn’t want you fucking around with Britta. Says you’ll get bored and leave her worse off than you found her,” he said, dropping the cigarette down, his high-top pressing the embers into oblivion.

“You tell her I was here, if you want,” I said, not wanting to lie, not particularly caring about Melody’s need to protect her cousin. She didn’t know it yet, but no one could protect and take care of Britta as well as I could.

“Aight then, see ya man,” Donny said, disappearing back onto the third-floor landing, the traces of his cigarette lasting in the air above me.

I knocked gently three times at Britta’s door before stepping back and waiting. There was movement inside, small but I heard it and I leaned in, waiting anxiously. She didn’t answer.

“Britta,” I called gently, hoping she’d open up. I needed to know she was okay.

Just as I was losing faith, I heard one lock click, another, the sliding of a chain and then that sweet and warm smell drifted towards me as she pulled the door open, slightly.

Her eyes were swollen, cheeks were tear stained, honey hair in a heap on her head. She looked disheveled and exhausted, distraught and concerned and still, she caused a heavy thudding in my chest. So fucking beautiful.

“Are you