Be Mine

Chapter Five

Frankie

I ascend the two sets of stairs up to the break room. I’m not sure who decided to put it up here rather than on the main floor, but I curse them each and every time I have to haul my lazy ass up them. I’m practically panting by the time I reach the top. This body wasn’t built for cardio.

Swinging open the door, I notice the tables are empty except the one in the far corner, currently occupied by a guy named Noah who works in the meat department. I’m thankful for the reprieve, I just need a few quiet moments.

Food is the last thing on my mind right now, but I know if I don’t at least try to eat, my sugar will be out of whack. Digging through the fridge, I pull out my lunch bag, pop my leftover fettuccine in the microwave, and press start. I chance a glance at Noah. He hasn’t acknowledged my presence since entering the room. Instead, he seems to be deeply immersed in his book.

I take the opportunity to peruse him. There’s something vaguely familiar about him. He’s got that hot nerd thing going on. And by nerd, I mean in the Clark Kent kind of way. The whole tall, bulky, muscles straining in his butcher’s coat, probably can bench press double my weight but also looks approachable, look. Except he’s not. The guy may as well be a mute, ‘cause he doesn’t engage in any form of conversation, much to half the female employees’ dismay. I always figured it's one of three things:

He has really high standards.

Is gay.

Or likes his women of the anime variety.

Not that it affects me in any way. I prefer my men more rugged-looking. Tattoos. Piercings. Bad decisions. That’s more my speed. Still, I can appreciate a decent looking specimen when I see one.

A worn copy of The Picture of Dorian Gray is clutched in his hand, he licks his thumb and turns the pages with care. Why am I not surprised he reads the classics? The black rimmed glasses he wears slide halfway down his aquiline nose and he mindlessly pushes them up with his index finger in the sexiest way possible. Jesus. I'd like to see his parents. For scientific purposes, obviously. Genes that flawless can’t be legal, right?

I’m so engrossed in watching Noah, the beeping of the microwave makes me jolt. My hand reaches out to the countertop for stability, knocking over my cutlery in the process.

His eyes snap up and meet mine. Blue . Not like warm, sandy beaches and gentle waves lapping at your feet. No, these are cold. Inhabitable. Like the Artic. His frosty gaze stuns me. His nostrils flare with an intake of breath. His jaw tics. Once. Twice. Three times. The clanking of the fork and knife on the floor dulled by the thrum of my heart. Boom. Boom. Boom. It pounds in my ears at an alarming rate. My mouth gapes. To say something. To apologize. I don’t know. I’ve obviously infuriated him, but the words are lost on my tongue. That icy glare holds me hostage making my limbs feel like Jell-O. And then it’s gone. He averts his eyes back to his book and continues reading.

A whoosh of air escapes me and I bend over on shaky legs to pick up the fork and knife sprawled at my feet. Turning towards the sink, I turn on the water and let it run until it gets hot while squirting copious amounts of dish soap on the cutlery. When I'm satisfied and the water has reached scalding temperatures, I scrub them much more vigorously than needed. I just need to busy my hands.

I hear the faint closing of a book, the scraping of a chair across the floor, but I don’t dare look. My posture stays ramrod straight as I continue to wash the cutlery that I’m sure is now thoroughly clean.

My skin prickles when he nears, the distinguishable scent of blood and death carried with him like an ominous cloud. An involuntary shiver rolls down my spine as I feel the subtle brush of his butcher’s coat against my back. Keeping my eyes downcast, my hands clutch the soapy fork and knife until I hear the click of the lunchroom door close. Loosening my hold, they clamor to the bottom of the sink.

I grip the countertop so firm my knuckles whiten. I thought coming to work would settle my mind, put me at ease, but my nerves are wracked. Looking up to the ceiling, I breathe deeply through my nose, holding it in my lungs until they feel they’re about to burst. You’re fine. Just get through this day. I repeat the mantra in my head as I repeat the breathing process, focusing on slowing my heart.

The idea of food right now is revolting, so I pull the container of fettuccine from the microwave, fasten the lid, and chuck it back into my lunch pail. I resign to flopping in a chair, slumping over the table, folding my arms underneath my cheek, and watching the clock tick away the minutes until my lunch is over.

***

“You have a delivery,” Taylor singsongs when I return from my break. I halt in my tracks, my pulse instantly increasing ten-fold.

“What is it?”

She motions towards my table where a bouquet of a dozen gorgeous, long stem red roses sits on my station, wrapped in black paper with tiny red hearts.

“Did you see who delivered it?”

“Yeah, it was La from the floral department.”

Maybe I’m overreacting. I’m so jumpy from this morning, which like the officer said, was probably just a cruel joke. But still, everything has me on high alert.

Picking up the bouquet and examining the flowers, they’re truly exquisite. The shade is closer to burgundy, the petals tight and as soft as velvet.

“It has a card. Open it,” Taylor says, peeking over my shoulder.

I’m afraid to. Utterly fucking terrified.

I slip the card from the envelope. It looks innocent enough, black card stock embellished with a red border, until I turn it over, the message sending a jolt of dread through me at high velocity.

I’d kill to be your Valentine

XO

“Oh, shit, looks like someone knows about your horror kink.” Taylor laughs as she walks back to the bakers’ racks.

It’s no secret I love all things horror, but still, this feels unrelated. This feels like someone is fucking with me, and I can’t figure out who would want to terrorize me like this. I look over the glass cake displays, into the aisles, but no one stands out. It’s just a bunch of ordinary customers pushing carts around the store. And at this time of day, it's still mostly elderly and mothers with young children shopping.

Pushing off the counter, I call out to Taylor that I’ll be right back. I’m heading over to floral. I need to talk to La, see if she knows who placed the order. Maybe it can help me connect the dots.

La is tying off a heart balloon to a beautiful spray of flowers in a vase when I reach her, her long black hair obscuring her face as she works. The entire fridge is packed with orders. Like me, she is overwhelmed today.

“Hey, La,” I call out to her. Her name is actually Lauren, but someone along the way nicknamed her La, and it’s stuck.

“Hey, girl, you get your valentine?” She straightens, giving me a knowing smile as she makes curls in the ribbons with her scissors. She’s an artist in her own right, making gorgeous arrangements for everyone’s special occasion.

“Yeah, about that. Did that order get placed in person, or…” I trail off.

“I don’t know, I just saw the form in my folder for the day. Why? You don’t know who sent them to you?” She sets the scissors down, propping her elbows on the table to look at me.

“Actually no. I was hoping you could help me out.”

“I still have the slip here, let me check.” She sifts through a pile of order forms, pulling a pink slip from the stack. We both lean against the table to get a better look at it.

“Someone on the afternoon shift took the order. It doesn’t have a name or phone number, just says to deliver to the bakery at lunch. And they paid with cash, so no card on file.”

“Shit.” I straighten, my eyes again scanning the floor, narrowing on any customers or grocery clerks that stand out, but I come up empty handed.

“Why, what’s up? I thought the bouquet and card were kinda cute. Especially for our little goth bitch.” She nudges me with her shoulder teasingly, and if it wasn’t for everything that went down when I left for work this morning, I would think it was cute, too. I’d love them, actually. But now? It sends a chill right through me.

“No, you’re right. They’re stunning. And perfect.” I laugh, though there’s no true humor behind it. “I just hoped I could thank whoever sent them.”

“You clearly have a secret admirer.” She waggles her eyebrows at me while walking to the cooler to retrieve some baby’s breath and ivy.

“You think it’s maybe Luke, from dairy? He was all over you at the Christmas party.” She kicks the cooler closed with her foot, laying out the greenery to be cut to size with her shears.

I shrug. I mean, it could be. Luke was persistent at the party, but I made myself clear I wasn’t interested. Besides, he doesn’t seem like the anonymous type. He loves the attention.

“Nah, I don’t think so. Luke wouldn’t miss an opportunity to get kudos. He’s like a dog who needs constant praise, maybe a scratch behind the ear, too.”

La and I both look at each other and burst into a fit of giggles.

“Too true,” she agrees, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. ‘Cause it is. The guy is a narcissistic prick who constantly needs his ego stroked.

“Shit, speaking of…” La’s eyes shift past me, in the direction of the dairy coolers across from the floral department. I sneak a peek over my shoulder, and like the man had been summoned, there he is, hauling a pallet of milk crates behind him.

“Fuck, does he have some kind of weird sixth sense?”

“Add that to the list of charming qualities.” La laughs.

“Funny,” I stick my tongue out at her, “I’m gonna try to sneak past him. I need to get back before Cynthia notices I’m gone, anyway.”

I veer left towards the chip aisle. I think I’m in the clear until I hear my name called.

Spinning around, I try to paint on my best, fake smile. “Luke, hey, how’s it going?”

Luke is a good-looking guy. The problem is he knows it, and that just rubs me the wrong way. Newer employees fall for the charm. For the dazzling smile. The fit physique. The contrast of his olive skin tone and turquoise eyes to the chocolate strands of his hair that are always tousled just right. But anyone who has been here for a while knows, he’s a fuck boy.

He leans casually against the cooler, folding his arms across his chest, lips curling up, making the dimple in his right cheek pop. Yeah, Mr. Hot Stuff even comes with an adorable dimple to compliment that perfect smile. “How you been?” he asks.

Oh, Luke, you do not have enough time for me to unload all of that.

“I’m good, you?”

“Can’t complain. What have you been up to lately? It’s been a while.” He is naturally charismatic, his voice low and soothing, like he was designed to draw women in.

“Yeah, you know, just working.” I shrug.

“Same. Any plans for tonight?” His eyes flash brighter. His lips tilt, just a fraction more. Like the charm has been dialed up.

“Yeah, I have a date with my couch, a box of chocolates, and my TV remote.” More like a date with a shitty ass motel and some Door Dash, but he doesn’t need to know that.

“Aww, that’s boring. Come out with me. We can grab some dinner. Maybe some drinks after.”

“Uh, Luke I don’t think—"

A customer pushes their way behind him, opening the refrigerator door and reaching in for a carton of creamer. Luke shifts forward to give them some space and that brings us closer together. Close enough I can smell the spice of his cologne. Close enough I can make out the threads of lighter green around his pupils.

I try to take a step back, to put some distance between us, slamming into the lady’s cart parked behind me. “Shit,” I whisper under my breath, losing my balance, the back of my shoe getting caught on the bottom of the cart.

Luke instantly reaches out, his hands bracing my shoulders to stop me from falling, pulling me into him, so our bodies are aligned. “Hey, you ok?”

“Yeah, I’m ok.”

“Oh my goodness, I’m so sorry,” the woman apologizes, pushing her cart out of the way.

“It’s, fine, no worries, I should watch where I’m going.” I laugh it off. Honestly, I’m more bothered by the way Luke is still embracing me. His front molded to mine in a way two coworkers should not be standing together, especially out on the floor in front of a bunch of customers.

Shrugging his hands off, I pull away. “I should get back to work.”

“Let me know if you change your mind,” he calls out. Unlikely, Luke.

La watches as I walk past. No sense going the long way around to bakery now. Her eyes widened in a what the fuck was that look. I just shake my head in response. I need to check the calendar, confirm it’s actually Friday the fourteenth instead of the thirteenth. Because the way this day is going, I’m seriously questioning myself.