Electing For her Curves

“I’ll get the door, Krystal. Maybe you could see about some dinner after all. Maybe just reheat the lasagna from yesterday,” he says with such coldness in his voice it stops me in my tracks.

I can see the shadowy outline of a man at the front door, a looming and large shadow cast by the porch lights.

My heart starts to beat wildly, and not just because dad’s yelled at me again, but because I’m sure it’s James at the door.

I can feel him close by.

I knew it. I thought it was my imagination or just wishful thinking, but I knew I could sense him.

I swear I can even still smell his cologne in the air.

The heart that’s in my throat sinks once dad flings the front door open.

Just a regular delivery guy. Some huge fruit basket or something.

Not the worst looming man either, not by any stretch.

But he’s no James Silverthorn, and that’s who I was sure it was.

I groan to myself, slinking off to the kitchen, wondering just how far all this James stuff is actually gonna go before he either kisses me for real or I lose my mind completely.

Resigning myself to getting some dinner ready, I jump when I hear the front door slam and hear dad storming towards the kitchen door, which he throws open too.

“Dad, what is wrong with you?” I shout, finally having enough of his tantrums for one day.

“Look!” he hisses, shoving a small white card under my nose as if I can read it that close up.

I sigh loudly and take the card, reading the sender’s signature before anything else and feel my knees buckle just slightly from seeing his name.

James Silverthorn.

I try to hide my smile from dad, but it’s too late, he’s turned on his heel and started to pace around the kitchen like a caged animal.

The message is for dad, so is the basket.

It’s a pretty standard gesture for candidates to wish each other well.

“See what he’s doing now?” Dad mutters to himself. “This is psychological warfare, he’s trying to mess with my mind.”

I feel my brow crease deeply and examining the card a little closer, I can see it was dated a couple of days ago.

“Dad, why don’t you go lay down,” I advise him gently, taking his arm and leading him back to the lounge room, deliberately not going past that huge gift basket which looks like it cost more than a small car now that I think about it.

“He’s up to something, Krystal. I can feel it… It’s like I can… I can almost sense the man lurking nearby somewhere,” he says absently to himself as I lift his legs up onto the leather couch and slip his shoes off.

Pulling a blanket over him, I kiss his forehead and dim the lights.

“I’ll let you know when dinner’s ready, Dad. Just have a little nap. Rest your eyes for half an hour okay,” I whisper, and before I reach the kitchen door I can hear the first of his snoring breaths.

The man’s exhausted.

Still feeling some sort of presence, like someone’s watching me, I double-lock the front door and check that the back door in the kitchen is bolted too.

I decide to get changed upstairs, into something fresher and more comfortable, closing my curtains in my room when I still feel that presence.

Still feel those eyes on me.

My mind turns from fear of prowlers to wishing it was James himself doing the prowling, climbing up the eaves and letting himself in through my bedroom window while dad’s asleep downstairs.

Maybe I’m the one who needs a laydown.

It’s an effort to even think of food over James Silverthorn, but I distract myself by trying to find something more exciting than leftover lasagna for dinner.

Unfortunately, my culinary skills don’t extend much further than reheated store bought food or using the phone to order some take out, so lasagna it is.

Nuking myself some lasagna, I realize how hungry I really am once it’s in front of me, and I even have a second helping before setting a plate for my dad.

My plan is to get him something to eat and try and get him to have an early night before treating myself to a long, hot and James Silverthorn filled bath before hitting the hay myself.

But once I see how deeply asleep dad still is, my own energy wanes and sleep feels like the easiest and quickest option given the amount of Lasagna in my belly.

Flicking off the main kitchen lights, I figure dad can help himself if he does get up, but I know his snore.

He’ll be out for the rest of the night so it’s for the best if we both get a proper night’s sleep before the big day tomorrow.

Problem is, once I get into bed after checking everything’s locked again, I feel wide awake.