A beautiful stranger

A Beautiful Stranger

She received the first present on Monday.

An anonymous gift with no note, delivered to her work.

A dozen red roses.

Stacey gazed at them fondly, wondered who they might be from – a client, perhaps? Pleased with the work she had done for them? – then put them in a vase in her office.

“Someone’s got an admirer,” her best friend Becky teased. “Who are they from?”

“I don’t know,” Stacey replied. “There’s no note.”

On Tuesday, the second present arrived.

This time it was an illustrated book of some of her favourite poetry.

Again there was no note.

Used to always being the centre of attention in the office, Becky was visibly jealous.

“Seriously?” She asked. “You seriously have no idea who sent you this?”

She thumbed through the pages, feigning interest even though, Stacey thought, her best friend wouldn’t know good poetry if it came up to her and asked her out on a date.

The illustrations were all of a very high quality, old-fashioned, and looked like they had been penned by hand – none of this new-dangled, modern, computer generated AI slop.

The writing, too, was all in a cursive text, styled to look like handwriting as the words flowed across the page like the cool, calm waters of a stream flowing down a hill.

Whoever it was that had bought this for her, Stacey thought, had obviously spent a lot of time searching for it in a bid to try and find her the perfect gift, not to mention money on it, because the book looked expensive; its pages, too, lightly perfumed – the scent drifting up to her as her friend made her way through the book looking, no doubt, for something she might recognise.

Taking it back from Becky, Stacey spent her whole lunchtime in her office reading through each of the poems in turn.

By the time she was done, she was crying – the tears quite literally running down her face from the emotions the words on the page caused her to feel.

It was, she thought, one of the most thoughtful gifts she had ever received.

That night, she ate dinner alone as usual.

Chicken parmigiana, with a glass of warm Chianti.

When she finally went to bed, again alone, she took the book with her and when she woke up the next morning, her pillow was wet from her tears.

On Wednesday, the third gift showed up at her office, first thing before anyone else had arrived. Again with no note, nor any clue as to who might be the one responsible.

“How can you not know who’s sending you these things?” Becky demanded, when she saw the big teddy already waiting for them in the lobby as they walked through the door.

The teddy was from one of Stacey’s favourite series of childhood books, and was holding a big red heart in its hands. “I can’t believe you of all people has a secret admirer. Someone must really have a big crush on you.”

Stacey just shrugged.

“You’re just jealous that it’s not you for a change,” she said.

“You need to watch out,” Becky told her. “It’s probably some kind of crazy stalker.”

Thursday, again, brought yet another gift.

This time an equally expensive-looking big box of chocolates.

As usual, no note was attached – instead just a photo of a gorgeous sunset, slowly setting on a beautiful sun-kissed beach; two figures in silhouette glimpsed in the distance, holding hands as they walked along the shore.

A hard-printed slogan across the bottom of the photograph read, “this could be us.”

Opening the box, Stacey saw it contained all of her most favourite flavours – dessert chocolates mostly, comprising of such succulent delights as lemon meringue, cherry Bakewell, and crème brûlée inspired sweet treats that all highly indulgent.

These were no store- bought chocolates, Stacey thought as she popped one in her mouth, savouring the sweetness as it quite literally melted on her tongue.

No, these had been tailor-made and commissioned just for her.

Becky just shook her head when Stacey offered her one of the unearthly delights.

“Not for me,” she responded curtly, obviously still smarting that the focus was on someone else for a change. “I’m on a diet,” she said, making a point of eyeing Stacey’s figure, even though she knew her friend had nothing to worry about, what with regularly working out and always taking time to ensure that she always kept herself in shape.

On Friday, the last gift arrived.

This one was less obvious, turning up in a plain envelope and sitting on her desk, waiting for her, when Stacey arrived at the office that morning.

Becky, as always, hovered by her open door, impatiently waiting for her to open it.

Inside, this time, there was a note.

Just a note.

Nothing more.

“Meet me at the Excelsior Hotel,” it read. “7 pm. Wear something nice.”

“You’re not actually going to go?” Becky admonished her, reading the note over her shoulder. “I mean, whoever it is that’s sending you these presents could be a killer, or a serial murderer or something. You have no idea who this even is.”

But Stacey just told her, “it’s fine. I’ll text you both before and after I arrive so that you know that I got there safe. You worry too much, and you watch too many of those Netflix true-crime documentaries you’re always going on about.”

The truth was, Stacey was flattered by all the attention she’d been receiving this past week, and it had been a long time since someone had last treated her this way.

The fact that the person responsible for sending her was a mystery to her likewise made the whole thing even more exciting.

There was no way she was never going to meet them.

~

 

7 pm came around.

Stacey arrived at the hotel exactly as invited, promptly and on time.

She was wearing a wrap-around silk dress, that perfectly accentuated and showed off her gorgeous figure; a slit up the thigh so high that it bordered on decency, whilst still maintaining an illusion of class and sophistication.

The note had told her to meet her secret admirer at the bar, that they would be waiting for her, and that she would recognise them by the red rose that they would be holding.

As she stepped into the bar area, she glanced around the room at all of the potential people it might be but seeing no-one holding a red rose, for the first time nervously found herself wondering if maybe the whole thing had just been a joke.

And one played out at her own expense.

Figuring she must just be early, even though the note had asked her to be there at 7pm promptly, and on the dot, Stacey made her way to the bar and took a seat – ordering herself a Black Russian to still her nerves, and give her the confidence to sit there, all dressed up to the nines, whilst she waited for the person she was hopefully supposed to be meeting to arrive.

Sitting there, in her heels and hose – her hair impeccable, her face all made-up – Stacey couldn’t help but feel a little overdressed. The only other person in the room dressed anywhere similar being the tall, leggy blonde who sat on the seat next to her, silently drinking what looked like a martini with her back to her.

As Stacey patiently waited, the tall blonde turned around in her seat to face her; holding a single red rose in the hand she wasn’t already using to hold her drink. Looking across, at the person turning to face her, Stacey found herself gazing straight into the eyes of her best friend Becky.

“I knew it was you,” she said, finally addressing her best friend. “I knew all along.”

“I’ve been waiting for this moment for so long,” Becky told her. “I was so scared to approach you and tell you how I felt. I just wanted you to feel appreciated. I just wanted everything to be perfect. I wanted you to finally know how I feel about you. How I’ve always felt about you. I just couldn’t find the words to say it.”

“It’s okay,” Stacey said and reaching over to take her best friend’s hand in hers, proceeded to kiss her directly on the lips. “I knew. I always knew. I felt the same way about you too, but I just didn’t know how to say the words either.”

The two of them moaned into each other’s mouths as they kissed. The desires the two of them had been fighting to suppress for so long, finally threatening to boil over into intimate passion. Becky bit her bottom lip as she reluctantly pulled herself away, all too aware that they were still in company and currently on public display.

“If it’s not too forward, I booked us a room,” she said nervously. “But if it’s too soon…”

“I thought you’d never ask,” Stacey told her. “What are you waiting for, let’s go take this upstairs…” And with that, taking each other by the hand, the two of them left the bar to finally finish consummating this new and latest chapter in their relationship.