Chapter 14
Not a Good Stalker
CALLIE
Instead of heading home after I get off work on Monday afternoon, I hop on the road out of Portland toward Lake Savage. Even though I talked to him via text—and picture, lord have mercy—on Friday evening. I’m getting antsy for more information about Shane.
The problem is I don’t know exactly how to get to Wes’s cabin. I have a general idea? So that might be enough.
Could I just message him for an update? Sure.
But this is me being assertive. Not a boring-ass good girl, but someone who goes after what she wants. Maybe I’m even behaving a little bit dangerous. I like it.
Not nearly as dangerous as that first time I followed him home, however, as I didn’t know he was kind of not scary at all.
Even so, I should not be pursuing this man.
He broke into my apartment! And left a pie. I shouldn’t let myself get distracted by delicious pies and killer abs. I’ve been so deprived of romantic love and affection for the last decade of my life that my brain must think that any attention is good attention.
I need to focus on my end goal, which is to find Shane and make him my ex-husband.
But I am, right? If Wes likes me, he’s more likely to work hard to solve my case, which will get me to Shane faster.
I’m only interacting with Wes because he’s the key to freeing myself from Shane and allowing me to start over.
Yeah. That’s exactly it.
That’s why I’m driving to his cabin uninvited. Again.
I was in Lake Savage once years ago, but there are so many cute little lake towns in Maine, it’s hard to keep track. I zone out as I pass through thick woods, snow piled up on the side of the road.
When Shane first disappeared, after I found Honey Bunny and had a few days to process, I was almost relieved. Almost because we had shit to sort through. He had papers to sign. He had my mother’s ring. It was not over. But not having to come home to an apartment with him in it was such a relief.
Now that it’s been so long, I’m just anxious to be done with him for good.
I follow the county road that I remember following Wes on, but can’t for the life of me recall where I turned off.
His long, partially hidden drive was possibly off that road, but there might’ve been another turn in there.
I wish I’d paid more attention that snowy morning, but I was so focused on driving safely that I don’t remember anything else.
Instead of driving aimlessly, I follow the sign that points to the town center of Lake Savage.
It’s got an adorable Main Street. There’s immediately a thrift store on the right and a coffee shop on the left, a tiny library, restaurants, boat rental, two gift shops, a bar, a bookstore, and a general store, where I turn around to head back to find parking in front of the coffee shop.
The bell jingles when I walk into Killer Beans, and the high-school aged barista looks up from her iPad.
She stares at me curiously as I approach the counter, then sets her device down. The cafe is relatively quiet, with only a small group of giggling girls in the corner staring at one of their phones.
“Can I help you?” the barista asks after waiting for me to say something.
“Yes.” I scan the quaint chalkboard menu that has a surprisingly extensive list of beverage options. “Can I have a mocha?” Might as well treat myself. The girl nods and turns to prepare my drink with the fancy coffee machine.
I check out the display case and spot an entire row of pies. Apple, blueberry, and cherry. I bite back a groan. I can’t go five minutes without thinking of Wes.
What am I doing here? Am I really planning to ask the young barista if she knows someone named Wes who bakes pies?
That would make me sound completely unhinged, and even if she knows him—which she probably does since this is a small town and how would someone not remember Wes—she might not want to tell a stranger anything. Then what?
She turns back around and slides my coffee to me. “Anything else?”
“A slice of apple pie, please.” My stomach rumbles at the memory of the pie I finished just yesterday.
I touch my card to the reader, then gather my coffee and pie and head to one of the small round tables. Once settled at the table, I take a bite of pie and groan. Fuck, that’s good. And after tasting from two of his pies, I’d be willing to bet it’s one of Wes’s.
I now have an unhealthy obsession with this man.
Here I am, sitting at a coffee shop in the middle of some deserted lake town with an overpriced coffee that’s probably not even— ohhhhh my god, the mocha is amazing.
I take another hot sip and appreciate the perfect balance of espresso and chocolate.
Good pie and coffee. Certainly that’s a sufficient excuse to have trekked to Lake Savage.
I open my message app and go to text Lola. I promised myself I’d tell someone next time I went off on a sketchy little adventure. But I hesitate. I’m still pissed at her for inviting Jake to our drinks the other night. I swipe out of the app. Nope. I’m not over it at all.
My finger hovers over the Gone app. I could just message Wes and ask him where he lives, or, like, his last name.
And just as I’m about to tap the app, the door jingles with a new customer.
I look up and my eyes land first on a man’s heavy boots, perfectly fitted jeans, thick hoodie with a fleece vest on top, broad shoulders and—fuck me.
It’s Wes.
His eyes land on me, and a slight smirk turns up the sides of his mouth. Instead of heading my way, he approaches the barista, who is looking way more interested in him than she was me.
“Hi, Wes,” the barista says with a giant smile.
“Hey Maris. You hear from Colby yet?”
“I got in!” She smiles broadly.
“Nice work!” Wes high-fives Maris, who is practically hopping up and down.
Even the middle school girls in the corner are gawking at Wes. Then they all watch him accept a coffee from Maris and walk directly to my table, taking a seat across from me. The round table now feels ridiculously tiny with his large frame hunkered over it.
“Trying to find me, Calliope?” His voice is smooth and deep, and a shiver runs up my spine. He pulls his black beanie off and runs a hand through dark wavy hair, looking completely unsurprised to see me.
“No,” I huff. “And no one calls me that.”
“Kind of like no one calls me Wesley.”
I shrug. “I guess.” My stomach squeezes. No one’s called me Calliope since my mother passed away.
“If you wanted my address—” He leans forward, close enough that I feel his warmth and smell that woodsy fresh scent. “You could’ve just asked me.”
“That’s not—I mean, I don’t want your address. Why would you think I want your address?” I’m protesting too much, and a short giggle doesn’t help. “Can’t I have a coffee—a really good one, I might add—in this cozy lake town?”
Wes leans back and smirks. Under the table, his knees knock into mine and he adjusts so his legs are outside of mine, still touching. His eyes flit down to my plate, which has half of the slice of apple pie left.
“You like the pie here?” Now he’s got a full-on smile on his face.
“I’ve had better, Wesley.” I raise my eyebrows because I just know it’s his pie. Wes bursts out laughing.
“Alright, I’ll keep working on the recipe.”
“I suspected it was one of yours.” I fight to keep a smile off my face. His stupid grin is contagious, and the laugh is like a warm blanket on a snowy day.
“I bring a few once a week, plus anytime I have extra that I can’t force-feed my brother.”
“Well. That’s… nice.”
Wes shrugs. “It helps a small business. I know the owner pretty well.”
“I bet you’re like the mayor of this town, huh.” I can just about picture him stopping in each shop on Main Street and checking how business is going. Weird. I wouldn’t have expected someone in his line of work to be so integrated in the community.
“Actually, a few people have asked me to run for mayor. Noah talked me out of it last time, so instead we elected a moose named Fred.”
“There’s a lot to unpack there.” I sip my mocha. Still delicious. “You’re close to your brother?”
“Yup. His cabin is less than a mile from mine, and we spend a lot of time together on some, well, joint projects, I guess.”
“That must be nice.” And he probably doesn’t keep really important secrets from you like my brother, I think but don’t say.
“It is.”
I’m tempted to ask about the rest of his family, but I stop myself because Wes is not my friend. I need to keep that in mind.
“What are you doing here, Wesley?”
“What am I doing here?” He snorts. I ignore it.
“I might be in your little town, but there’s no way you just happened to stop by this coffee shop—”
“Killer Beans.”
“—Killer Beans ten minutes after I got here.” I try to look haughty, but it’s difficult when I’m obviously trying to track him down.
“Maris, what’s your second choice for college next year? Is it still Boston University?” Wes calls to the barista.
“Yes, but I haven’t heard from them yet.” She gives him a bright smile.
“I’m sure you’ll hear soon.” Then he looks back at me and lowers his voice.
“This is my town, Calliope. I know everyone. Those girls in the corner are eighth graders. Their moms all own a bakery down the road. The couple who just walked in?” He nods his head toward the two older women approaching the register.
“They’ve lived here their whole lives. They used to own the general store but sold it a few years ago.
They have a gorgeous lakeside cabin a mile up the road.
In the summer they drive their golf cart in and out of town. ”
“I get it. What’s your point?”
“That woman walking by with her dog?”
My eyes slide to a woman around sixty walking a tiny dog in front of the coffee shop.
“She runs the B&B with her husband and daughter. Her son is a professional hockey player in Colorado.”
“Fine. You know some people. So what?”
“This is my town. I belong here. Why is it so hard to admit that you came looking for me?”
I groan. “Fine.”
“Fine what?”
“Fine, I came looking for you.”
“Why?” Wes leans back in his chair, taking a long sip of his coffee.
I try to come up with a reason why I’m here besides the truth, which is that I’m trying to hunt him down because of morbid curiosity and a little bit of an obsession.
“Oh! Shane. I wanted to see if you made any progress on finding Shane.”
Wes raises a single eyebrow. “You didn’t have to come here to do that. I bet you wanted more of my pie.” He nods his chin to my plate. “I’d understand that. I can buy you another slice if you’re still hungry.”
I let out a laugh, noting that he’d buy back his own pie. “I do have a thing for your pie. And I finished the one you left in my apartment.”
“What are you talking about?” Wes cocks his head and looks fake-confused. Oh, he’s still pretending it wasn’t his pie? Proof or not, I know it was him.
“Wesley.”
“Calliope.”
We stare at each other for a long few seconds, and I almost burst out laughing.
“I’ve been meaning to say.” He leans forward on the table as he breaks our silence, and smirks. “You probably shouldn’t eat random pies that show up in your kitchen. What if some lowlife tried to drug you?” His voice is a conspiratorial whisper.
“Who the fuck would do that?” I whisper back.
He shrugs and throws me a charming grin. Then a dark shadow crosses his face.
“But Calliope, you actually shouldn’t be walking down dark alleys at night by yourself.”
“And you shouldn’t be following people around.”
“Maybe. I’m honestly not sure how you’ve survived this long without someone like me to look out for you.”
“I’m usually a lot more careful.”
“I find that hard to believe, but okay.” He has the decency to look worried, not annoyed.
No one has looked out for me since high school. Not my father, nor Jake, nor Shane. But Wes seems to want to. That is… fucking weird. And shouldn’t make me as happy as it does. I can take care of myself. Kinda.
I swallow and shut my eyes, fighting back the memories of my father not protecting me from his associate when I was in high school.
Pushing away the dread that cloaks me whenever I think of Shane’s gaslighting and demands for my father’s money.
I punch back the anger I have toward Jake, who could help me find Shane but refuses to.
“Hey, where’d you go?” A warm hand touches my arm, and my eyes fly open. Wes stares at me with a furrowed brow, and the spot where his fingers touch my skin draws my eyes.
“Uh, nowhere.” I shake my head and look up. “But I don’t need your protection. I don’t even know you.”
A comical flash of hurt crosses Wes’s face.
“You’re right. I’m sorry if I overstepped.”
At this, I laugh. A smile turns up the corners of Wes’s mouth, and then he chuckles with me.
“What’s so funny?”
“There are so many ways in which you’ve overstepped over the past ten days.”
“Does that upset you?” he asks, paying careful attention to my reaction.
“Fuck, I don’t know.” I shake my head. “It should. It really, really should.”
So why doesn’t it?