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If given the choice, Hank would never travel. Funny, considering travel is what brought him to Stella, but now travel is what takes him away from her and he hates it. He’s always hated it, but now he hates it even more.
It’s been a very long time since Hank and Stella would be apart for more than a handful of days, time so short it could reasonably be broken down into hours. Now, they’re halfway through an eight-day absence from each other and he’s homesick like he’s never been before even though they’ve had daily FaceTimes. To top it off, it’s Valentine’s Day, not that they’ve ever really truly celebrated it, but Stella had come around to the idea of at least acknowledging the traditionally romantic day in the last couple years and Hank was sorry he wasn’t there to take advantage of it.
Hank’s phone pinged from the bedside table where it was plugged into the built-in charging station in the lamp of his hotel room. He turned the TV off and checked his texts. Sure enough, it was from Stella. Just getting home.
After texting a response, Ready when you are, Hank padded across the room with bare feet to the desk and opened his laptop. He sat down and waited, scratching at his bare chest. The bop button of his jeans was undone and he undid the second one as well to get more comfortable. Two minutes later, a bubbly ringtone echoed from both Hank’s phone by the bed and the laptop in front of him and he clicked the acceptance button on the incoming FaceTime from Sherlock on the computer. He couldn’t help the broad smile that pulled at his lips when he saw her.
“Someone’s a liar,” he said.
“Pardon?”
He pointed at the screen with an accusatory finger. “You’ve been home long enough to change into your pjs and open a bottle of wine.”
Stella smiled softly and swiveled back and forth in her chair. She had on a low-cut, silk, spaghetti-strapped tank top and matching silk shorts in a pale pink. A glass of white wine sat on the desk at the corner of the laptop, but it was unclear to Hank if it was half full or half empty.
“I was quick about it,” she said. “How long do we have tonight?”
“Long enough you could get undressed and I could be quick about reaping the visual benefits.” He gave her a leer, leaning closer to the camera so his face filled the screen. He’d been trying unsuccessfully for years to get Stella to flash a little something for him over FaceTime or text, but she was adamantly opposed to it and given her knowledge and experience with cybersecurity, he respected her refusal, but it didn’t mean he wasn’t going to play his hand now and again.
“I have no doubt your rather large imagination will tide you over,” she answered.
“It is such a turn on when you talk about my large imagination.”
“Of course it is.”
“How was your day, Sherlock?”
“Long. There was ice leftover from yesterday’s snow. I took the train despite the cold to avoid the streets.”
“Probably a good call. It’s unusually bright and sunny here, but it was raining in Seattle when I left.”
“Your flight was okay?”
“Short and sweet, not even a bump.”
“It’s San Francisco today and Phoenix tomorrow, is that right?”
“You got it.” Hank looked up in puzzlement when there was a knock at his door. “Hang on, Sherlock, someone’s here.”
“Room service?”
“I didn’t order anything. Let me check.”
Hank got up and checked the peephole. There was a deliveryman in the hall, wearing a blue jumpsuit, holding a box. He slid the chain lock back and opened the door.
“Delivery for Mr. Stella Gibson,” the man said.
Hank chuckled. A few weeks ago he’d gone up to school with Stella to help her move offices due to some departmental switch. They’d run into a colleague of hers in the quad and she’d introduced him as her husband.
“Mr. Gibson,” the fellow professor had said, holding his hand out. “Pleasure.”
“You can call me Hank,” he’d answered, grinning broadly and shaking the man’s hand.
“Moody,” Stella amended. “Hank Moody.”
“Come again?”
“I kept my name after we married,” Hank said.
“Ah, ah, apologies for the error.”
“Don’t worry about it. I should’ve been introducing myself as Mr. Stella Gibson a long time ago.”
Hank had been so amused by the exchange he’d started using the name on a regular basis. He’d even broken into Stella’s phone and changed his contact card from Watson to Mr. Stella Gibson.
“Sign here, please,” the deliveryman said to Hank, handing him a clipboard and a pen.
Hank scribbled his signature and exchanged the clipboard for a small white box wrapped with a red ribbon. He held it close to his ear and shook it back and forth a few times as he walked back to the desk.
“Somebody sent me a present,” Hank said, rattling the box one more time as he sat down.
“How thoughtful of them.”
“If that same somebody opened up the bottom drawer of her filing cabinet, she might find something there for her as well.”
Stella glanced over her shoulder and then spun her chair around to reach the filing cabinet. Hank waited as she leaned down and then pulled out the white teddy bear holding a gift box in its paws. She had a smile on her face when she turned back to her laptop and she showed him the bear in her hand before she scooted in towards the desk again.
“Before you open yours,” she said, “Check the zipper on left side of your suitcase.”
“The useless side pocket that couldn’t even hold a comb?”
“That’s the one.”
Hank’s suitcase was on the other side of the room. He put the box down next to the laptop and went over to inspect the pocket. It was a tight fit for his hand, but he could feel the corners of an envelope deep inside. He pinched at it with his fingers and managed to wiggle it out. The seal was closed and the front was blank.
“I’m intrigued,” he said, waving the envelope at the camera as he sat back down.
Stella took a sip of her wine and shrugged a little. The impish smile she wore and slow drop of her lashes as she blinked over the rim of her wine glass just served to ramp up his impatience. He was about to rip open the envelope, but she stopped him, holding her hand up and shaking her head.
“The box first,” she said.
“Saving the best for last?”
“Perhaps.”
“Alright.” He put the envelope aside and pulled the box closer to untie the ribbon. “Chocolates?” he asked, tossing the lid aside. “So romantic of you. Ohhhhh…Jack Daniel’s infused chocolates. Romantic and practical, now, we’re talking.”
“I don’t think practical was the idea I had for it.”
“But, romantic was?” He raised his brows at her a few times as he unwrapped one of the chocolates. “Are you getting soft on me, Sherlock?”
“It’s possible.”
“Go ahead and open yours.” He nodded at her and then ahhed appreciatively as the whiskey burned his throat in the best possible way, tempered by the sweetness of the chocolate.
Stella made a quick inspection of the bear and then sliced through the tape holding the gift box closed with her fingernail. There was a long rectangular envelope inside with her name on it and she pulled out the card decorated with a rainbow explosion of hearts and flowers. He didn’t have much choice in the matter, it came with the gift certificate tucked inside, but he did scratch out the lame, dimestore poetry on the inside and wrote his own note which he watched her read to herself.
I leave tomorrow, but I miss you already. You kissed me goodnight five minutes ago, but I already miss your taste, chai tea and vanilla, even though it lingers on my lips. I miss you when there’s jasmine in the air. I miss you when the alarm rings in the morning and my eyes are still closed, but my arms are empty. I miss you even as you’re holding my hand, because I know I will have to let go eventually. I will tell myself that each day I’m away from you is also one day closer to being back with you. I will tell myself that being apart on Valentine’s Day is meaningless when I’ve loved you the same as the day before and I’ll love you more the day after. Missing you is loving you and loving you means missing you, whether you’re here or not. I love you and I miss you, your husband (Mr. Stella Gibson)
As she usually did, when Hank was sentimental with her, Stella ducked her head and tucked her hair back over her ears. It took her some time to look back up into the camera, but she nodded softly and then raised her eyes, swiping the knuckles of her index fingers beneath her lids in one quick motion as she blinked a few times.
“Thank you,” she murmured.
“It’s all true,” Hank said.
She nodded again and wiped the corner of her right eye.
“Anyway,” he said. “You’re booked at Oasis on the 26th. The package is listed on the gift certificate. Massage and facial, mani-pedi, I think.”
“The 26th? But, that’s when we’re meeting Becca for-”
“Cover story.” He smiled. “Needed an open day for you.”
“Very clever. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. My turn?”
“Mm.” She nodded and sat back in her chair, wrapping one arm around her folded leg while twisting the stem of her wine glass back and forth.
Hank scratched open the closed flap of the envelope and tore it back to get inside. He shook out a series of printed photos into his hand and then sat up completely straight in his chair. He glanced at Stella to find her biting her bottom lip and rubbing her chin with the side of her finger.
“Stella, love of my life, you really…oh my god.”
“I only ask that you keep these private.”
“You know I will.”
He flipped through the photos slowly, even keeping them hidden from the laptop camera. Stella’s face was not clearly visible in any of the photos, but he knew it was her. They were selfies, in black and white, a couple were a little blurry, but it felt more like an artistic effect than a mistake. He would have to give them closer inspection later, with his glasses on, but he didn’t want to get up and get them now.
In the first photo, Stella was on her side in their bed, leg folded modestly and arm strategically covering her bare breasts. She was naked, for sure, but nothing more than a bare hip was truly revealed. In the second photo, she was on her stomach with her head turned into her crossed arms. The angle was from the shoulder down, but the curve of her buttocks was hidden in shadows and sheets. The third was a dim, over the shoulder shot in their bathroom mirror. Her hair was up and the glossy line of her spine disappeared into his favorite pair of black lace panties across her hips. The fourth photo was his favorite. She was back in their bed, wearing the matching black lace bra of the third photo. She was sitting cross-legged, but turned so that her hair obscured her downturned face. He was sure the darker gray shadows behind the diaphanous material of her bra were the hardened pebbles of her nipples showing through.
The fifth photo made him laugh and he did turn that around to share with her. It was one he had saved as a favorite in the photo album on his phone. Years ago, she had gone out shopping to find a dress for a conference she’d had to attend. They were still in London then. It was back when every other day he’d texted her things like I ’m bored, send nudes . And she would comply with a snapshot of something in the beige color palette. She’d texted him a selfie from the dressing room wearing an ecru dress that was barely a shade darker than her own skin tone. He’d titled it UNSOLICITED NUDE and brought it up occasionally when he’d complain that it had been a long time since she’d sent him anything interesting. He loved the playful smile on her face in the photo, like she knew she was being clever and the fact that she’d done it just for him made it one of his personal favorites, but he’d never thought to print it out.
“Guess I don’t have to use my large imagination after all,” he said, tucking the photos back into the envelope for safe-keeping. “I love them. I love you. I don’t know if these next few days are going to be easier or just more unbearable.”
“You’ll figure something out to keep it bearable. Just as I will.”
“Is that a reference to Little Richard?” Though Stella was once exasperated by the fact that Hank had named her vibrator, she later begrudgingly had to admit that it was certainly a handy codeword. “Dare I ask if he’s been put to work this week, in my absence?”
“It might be recharging on the nightstand as we speak.”
“You wore the little guy out?”
“It’s been a long four days.”
“Do you want to celebrate Valentine’s Day when I get back by going out?”
Stella shook her head. “I’d rather celebrate by staying in.”
“I’m picking up what you’re putting down, Sherlock, and I like what I’m hearing.”
“Of course you do.”
“You know anything that involves you, me, and copious amounts of nudity and will always have my vote.”
Stella smiled a little and sipped her wine. Hank had another piece of spiked chocolate and brought his elbow down to the desk, propping his head on his fist so he could just look at her. Even with his terrible attention span and his need to fill every silence, sometimes it was enough just to sit and watch her. She tipped her head to the side against the back of the chair and swiveled.
“How did we ever survive the weeks apart between New York and London?” he asked.
“Months, even.”
“Months. Unfathomable.”
“We’ve gotten soft.”
“You have, I’ve always been a marshmallow.”
“I suppose that’s true.” Stella put her fist to her mouth to cover a yawn and Hank glanced at the clock.
“Tired, Sherlock?”
“A little. It’s fine, I still have some paperwork to do.”
“And a date with Little Richard later.”
“Perhaps not.”
“No?”
“Incomparable to the real thing, which is what I really want.”
“My ego is sufficiently boosted, thank you.”
“Your ego has never suffered any deficits.”
“True.” He chuckled and adjusted the tilt of his laptop. “But, it’s the thought that counts. You miss me.”
“I hope that’s not as shocking as you make it sound.”
“No, no. Not shocking, just…marshmallowy.”
“Heaven forbid.”
“Certified Stay Puft, sweetheart.”
She scoffed half-heartedly, the lack of protest a concession. She stifled another yawn and he took another glance at the clock. He still had plenty of time, but she was three hours ahead of him and he wasn’t going to keep her. Mondays and Tuesdays were her early days.
“I should get going,” he said. “Still need to shower the airplane stank off me and maybe spend some alone time with my new photos. Best present ever, by the way, in case I forgot to mention that.”
“Happy Valentine’s Day, Mr. Stella Gibson.”
“Happy Valentine’s Day, Sherlock. I’m counting down the days.”
“Me too.” Stella lifted her hand and put two fingers to her lips and held them there for several moments before she reached out and touched her screen.
Hank reached out and touched her fingertips on his screen and then he brought his hand into his chest and laid it over his heart. He disconnected the call and then closed his laptop and unconsciously traced a heart over the apple in the center for a few moments before he picked up the envelope holding the photos. He pulled out the unsolicited nude and took it to the bedside table, propping it up against the lamp so it was angled towards the pillows. He laid down, picked up his phone and took a selfie of him with his head turned, eyes closed, and lips puckered up towards her photo. He texted it to Stella with a red heart emoji and a few seconds later she replied with the lips emoji.
“Marshmallow,” he whispered, smiling up at the ceiling.
The End