Roses Are Red, Dragons Are Blue

5. Knives Are Silver

Hey guys, I had time for a longer chapter this week! Enjoy!

Much love,
Robin

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5. Knives are Silver

Fletcher took me to his workshop, parking his car in the back and letting me in through the backdoor. Inside it was a neatly ordered place with several workbenches and various workstations with tools I couldn't understand. Including a forge and an anvil that I did know but it was still surprising to see. I hadn't realized that when Fletcher had answered the phone with 'Custom Knives' that meant he was making them himself.

I wanted to linger and look at the various works in progress scattered around his workshop, but he urged me through another door and into a small office space with a kitchen area on one side. It was cluttered, with a stack of dirty dishes piled in the sink, and several dirty mugs spread out between piles of paper on the desk.

He looked around the place with a faintly sheepish smile on his face, clearly only now noticing what a mess his office space was. As he hurried to empty the chair in front of the desk I headed for the teakettle and put it on. I was a little lost as to what to do with myself, still unsettled from the previous events. What was I even doing here? Why had I gone home with this stranger?

Fletcher didn't seem like a stranger to me though, he seemed familiar, comforting, and steady. The kind of steady I could use in my life, not just because of this stalker. For a brief moment, I tried to imagine what it would be like if Fletcher and my grandfather were to meet. Like a wave meeting an immovable rock. In that image, I wasn't entirely sure who the wave was and who the rock was. Fletcher was probably the wave, eventually wearing down that rock until it was nothing but sand.

I found myself smirking at the teakettle as it obnoxiously rattled as it brought the water to a boil. Fletcher would bring even my grandfather down a notch, I had no doubt about that. "What's so funny over there?" he demanded, amusement warming his heavy bass.

Opening and closing the two cupboards that were all there was to this tiny kitchenette, I concluded all the tea mugs were dirty. So I rolled up my sleeves and started on the dishes, giving them a rinse before I started with the suds. "Just imagining you meeting my grandfather, he wouldn't know how to deal with you."

There was a snort and more shuffling sounds as he moved papers. "Probably, most people don't," there was self-deprecation in that tone, a hint of pride. "You don't have to do that, you know. I know I let this place turn into a pigsty when I'm working a lot, but I can take care of it." I wondered if he sounded a little affronted at the idea that I thought he was a slob. I wasn't sure if that was true or not, his workplace had looked immaculate to me so he was obviously capable of keeping a space neat.

"I'm just making tea," I told him, tilting my head to send a smile his way. He responded with a radiant smirk, full of humor. His eyes telling me: of course, just making tea. Truthfully I found the busy work soothing, like I could let my worries sink down my arms and into the sudsy water, down the drain.

"We need to make a plan, figure out who is doing this to you," Fletch said, interrupting my worry-free thoughts. As if he knew how cold my body went just thinking of this stalker, he was suddenly right behind me, his chest almost brushing against my back. I could feel the heat from his body radiate down my spine, felt his presence like a bulwark against my troubles.

"I guess we should start with a list? Of possible suspects?" I offered, pulling the last plate from the water, and pulling the plug. As the water drained, I started drying things while Fletch poured the tea, pulled out a packet of cookies from somewhere, and set everything down on his now cleared desk.