A note on the table

He sent me an address, that was all I had. Just an address in a text. I looked it up on the internet and got some directions. It was about 3 hour drive from where I was. I had no instructions on what to wear or what to do when I got there, nothing , just an address. I resisted the temptation to see if I could see what the place looked like.

Driving in the car, I could feel my excitement mouting, my stomach leaping with anticiaption, my mouth dry. Excited, scared, happy, apprehensive, really it was the whole gammit of emotions all rolled into one.

I wished I could be there straight away, but also wished the miles would go slower...I was nervous. I had not seen him for nearly six months.

I followed the instructions,t he houses became more and more spread out until I turned into lane and could see, at the end, a small cottage, but no car, no familar old car waiting for me.

A note was attachd to the front door with a pin. "The key is in the same place it is a home". I looked and he was right, it was, pushd into a flower pot, deep in the soil. I pulled it out and brushed it off. I slid the key into the lock, opened the door and stepped stright into the smal living room. It was beamed, with a big fireplace and beautifully furnished. I put my bag down and walked to the kitchen. There on the table was my rope, curled up, with a note on top of it.

"You know what to do"

 And he was right, I did know what to do. I took the rope and walked up the stairs, stripped slowly and carefully folded my clothes, and piling then up on the floor and knelt down beside the end of the bed.

The floorbaords had been warmed by the sun coming in the window and I looked around the room at the big comfy bed, the small windows, with the curtains wafting in the warm summer breeze. I looked around and could see a chest of drawers, a door tot eh bathroom and a wooden chest.

 I knelt back on my heels and waited to hear the door downstairs open.