19 Ivy Lane
Episode 3 by Kishan Paul
Oblivious to the rain, Victor stood frozen outside Eloisa’s window staring into her home. Men he’d never seen before occupied the seats in her tiny living room. Dressed in black lace which concealed nothing, she served them tea and snacks while the strangers nodded and eyed her with obvious lust.
This was a far different woman than the one who greeted him on his daily mail route. But that wasn’t the only reason he was stunned. Every night in his dreams, the same scandalously clad vixen visited him. It was the same each time. Seductively dressed, she would climb into his bed and do things to him that made him blush to even think about afterwards. Never had he hungered for sleep as much as he had of late. What man wouldn’t? Her ample breasts, full hips and those lips, the beautiful things those lips could do…
Before he finished the thought, her gaze locked with his. Eloisa’s eyes widened with recognition while his face burned with shame. He stepped away only to slip on slick gravel, fall and slam the back of his head against the rocks. A flash of pain shot through him moments before darkness numbed it away.
A few seconds later, the soft drizzle of rain spattered on his face, pulling him out of his uncomfortable slumber. Victor touched the wet, throbbing ache in the back of his neck. That would need to be dealt with, but first he needed to get out of her yard fast. He crawled to his knees and as he rose to his feet, noticed his soaked postal bag lying a few feet away. Just as he hung its strap over his shoulder and began his escape to the road, Eloisa’s front door swung open.
“Mr. Burnham, is that you?”
Standing in Eloisa’s lawn with nowhere to hide, he had no other choice but face her and confess his sins.
“I am very sor…” His words of apology vanished as soon as she came into view. He sucked in a breath, and for the second time in minutes found himself speechless.
She stood a few feet away on her porch. Her hair neatly pulled back from her face. The tiny black lace she wore moments ago, replaced with a pale blue dress that fell to her ankles.
Victor blinked a few times. The fall must have jostled his brain. Or maybe he had blacked out for minutes rather than seconds.
She crossed her arms and tilted her head, eyeing him with suspicion. “Mr. Burnham, is there a reason for your visit?”
He inched closer to the porch and looked past her, into the open door of her home. Empty. Even the table was clear of dishes.
She cleared her throat, drawing his attention to her crystal blue eyes.
Victor rubbed the sore spot on the back of his neck. “I’m sorry to bother you, Ms. Sinclair. I came to deliver the mail and when you weren’t at the box, I worried.”
“That was very kind of you but as you can see, I am fine.”
He leaned to the side for a better view of the living room. Still empty. Victor looked back at the road and then to the house. They must have left while he was unconscious.
She stepped into his path and raised her brows. “Is there any other reason for your visit, Mr. Burnham?”
“Oh. Sorry, yes. There is a reason. I have mail.” Victor dug into the bag. “For you.” He pulled out the letter. “It came today, and I thought you would want it.”
Her eyes widened and when she stretched out her hand to receive the mail, he could have sworn it shook.
Well, she had caught him peeping through her window—a disturbing experience for anyone, much less a single woman. Victor’s cheeks warmed. He dropped the letter in her palm and turned to leave with what little dignity he had left.
He paused dreading what would come next. “Yes?”
“Your head is bleeding. Why don’t you come inside and let me tend to it?”