Delivering mail in a crappy van was not a dream job, but John was glad he had a job at all these days. He was getting to know 'his' neighborhood, figuring out where to park and turn the van to get through this sleepy suburb in the most efficient way. At the end of the route, on the edge of the forest stood an old mansion with a high fence. He'd seen it before when he'd gone hiking, but he'd never actually delivered any mail there. It made him wonder if the place was perhaps abandoned.
And then one afternoon, when he thought he'd delivered everything in the van, there it was. A package for the mansion on the edge of the woods. He'd gone past it, busy delivering magazines and online shopping to the family homes near the school. But there it was, a small box, about the size of two books or a thick stack of paper, addressed to a Ms A. Stark.
John smiled to himself and laid the package on the passenger seat. He turned the van around and made his way back to that dead-end street that led up to the mansion. When he stopped the van at the iron-wrought gate, he looked around for the mailbox. But he had no intention of leaving the package at the fence, he wanted to see that place. There was a mail slot in the stone pillar of the gate, too small for the package, and next to it was a button and a speaker.
Feeling a little excited, John got out of the van with the package in his hand. He took his hat off and ran his hand through his ginger curls to make them less flat and more presentable. Peering through the gate, he could see the driveway and a large garage beside the porch where the front door was. The afternoon sun made it hard to see if any lights were on. So he went over to the doorbell and pressed the button.
A tiny red light let him know that somewhere in the house, there was a doorbell sound. As he waited, John held the package in one hand, as if he was a waiter delivering a drink. If there was a camera somewhere, the person in the house would be able to tell from the package and the uniform and the van that he really was the mailman.
The little speaker buzzed and a voice said: "Come on in." With a hum, the gate started to roll open, but it stopped when the opening was about four feet wide. John looked back at the van for a second, before walking through the gate and up to the house.
Tall trees surrounded the house, even inside the fence, providing shade and silence. The mansion looked gorgeous and in good condition, the stonework was neat and clean. The wooden shutters in front of every window were painted deep red, and so was the front door. As he approached the porch, the door opened and a woman stepped out, wearing a silk dressing gown that showed off her curvy body. Long, blonde hair fell down over her shoulders and partially obscured her pale face. Barefoot, she walked to the edge of the porch and stood there, staring at him, one hand stroking her chin.
John smiled at her, suddenly feeling self-conscious. "A package for you, Miss." He stayed on the driveway and extended his arm to offer it to her.
She looked him over, head to toe, and then looked him straight in the eyes. Something in that piercing gaze quickened John's breath.
"Why don't you come inside for a drink?" Her voice was breathy and sultry, and she ran a finger over her lips as she spoke. "You look like you've had a long day." She turned and padded into the house, leaving the front door wide open.
John stood there for a moment, the package still in his extended hand. He swallowed at this unbelievable situation, and then trotted up the steps and through the door. The hall had a gleaming herringbone wooden floor that made him want to wipe his feet, for fear of sullying it. But he was also worried about wandering into the wrong room. She clearly hadn't gone up the large spiral staircase that dominated the hall, but there were several doors and corridors, and the polished wood and thick curtains everywhere dazzled him.
The sound of a cabinet being opened came from an open doorway, and John went through with a sigh of relief. Bookshelves lined the walls of this room and a plush rug decorated the middle of the floor, where three antique sofas stood around the fireplace. The woman stood by a wooden cabinet, pouring what looked like wine into a crystal glass.
"Soda?" She asked as she glanced at him. "I'd offer you something stronger, but you're driving, of course. Or would you like lemonade?"
John took a deep breath. "Miss, you're very kind, but I shouldn't." And he placed the package on a seat. He started to back away to the door, when she turned to face him, and her piercing stare froze him in his tracks.
"Come here. Sit." She patted the padded loveseat in front of her.
With an awkward smile, he nodded and crossed the rug to sit down. The crystal she put down on the side table beside the armrest contained the same red wine as her own glass, which she brought to the other side of the loveseat. She sat down facing him, her knee touching his thigh, and laid her hand on his shoulder, pulling him closer. The movement pulled her dressing gown open, revealing the white skin of her thighs and her cleavage.
Feeling his temperature rising, John stared at the rug, his hands folded in his lap.
"Look at me, boy." Her soft fingers touched his stubbly chin, coaxing him to turn his head towards her.
He tried very politely to not let his gaze rest on her exposed skin, and when he looked into her eyes, he suddenly noticed how blue they were, like the colour of a lake deep in the forest, with green all around the edges. The way her fingers stroked his chin made his breath hitch, and the sensuous sound of her voice made him feel sweaty.
