Chapter 10
Finn
Iwatched Eric leave, backpack in hand, and worried just for a minute that he might be walking out on me. Then he turned right into a hallway instead of left, where the exit was, and I let out a breath and focused on the menu in my hand.
There were a ton of options. Tea, coffee, juices, pastries, and a couple of savory options.
A well-thought-out variety that would allow almost anybody to find something.
Even someone whose stomach had turned against him, like me.
Okay, I might not have been completely innocent.
I might’ve driven my stomach into rebellion.
I shifted in my chair again, wishing like crazy I could take off my shoes and pull up my legs to hunker down just like…
oh, the girl three tables down was currently doing.
Another lady in her forties was sitting cross-legged on a couch, a skein of wool next to her, while her hands were moving rapidly, the knitting needles clattering quietly.
This was such a strange space. It felt homey, a little like my grandma’s living room, and people appeared to be treating it just like a regular living room in their homes. Upon closer look, I found even more people not wearing shoes and with their feet up on the chairs.
Most guests were women, many of them knitting or crocheting, though there were a couple of guys too. Some people were chatting, but it was pretty quiet for a café.
Eric didn’t really fit in with the crowd.
He was too… intense?
He lacked the casualness everyone else was displaying. Even though he was laughing with me, smiling at me, there was something in his posture that seemed more… rigid.
And the way his eyes had blazed when I’d mentioned the stalker? He’d looked almost scary. Like he’d go out of his way to protect me if I said a single word about being afraid. Which was weird. And oddly comforting.
Was he like that when I’d met him at the club too? I couldn’t remember him at all. Then again, everything about that night was a hazy fog.
I knew he’d been very assertive about getting me to the hospital. And about demanding I’d be seen ASAP. He hadn’t been outwardly rude, but he’d left no room for argument.
So he was a little stuck-up and a bit bossy. I could live with that. In certain situations—like me being a bit out of it after puking blood—it could certainly be an advantage having a friend like that.
“I’m back. Sorry it took so long.”
I flinched.
Holy fucking shit, was this guy a ninja, or had I spaced out for a moment?
Eric smiled at me, placing his hand on my shoulder for a moment. “Did I scare you? Sorry, that wasn’t my intention.”
I laughed it off. “No problem. I didn’t hear you coming.”
He nodded seriously. “The rugs swallow a lot of sound.”
Oh, I guess I hadn’t thought about that. “So, you’re not a ninja?” I joked.
Eric snorted, his face relaxing a fraction. “Sorry to disappoint.”
He sat down opposite me, his body melting into the armchair. He looked more comfortable now, more relaxed. Maybe he’d just been nervous about meeting up.
“Did you find something you want?”
I nodded. “They have an anti-inflammatory tea. I guess I can’t go wrong with that one. And I’ll have a scone to go with it.”
Eric nodded appreciatively, carding a hand through his short, dark hair. “Sounds good.”
I laughed, shaking my head. “You don’t need to lie. It sounds bland. But bland food it is. What are you having? Let me live vicariously through you.”
Eric grinned, his eyes scanning the menu. “I’ll have a cappuccino and… ugh, I think I’ll go with a scone too.”
“Noo,” I whined a bit overdramatically. “You need to order something else, something that would make my stomach bleed with anger.”
He chuckled, his eyes flashing for a moment. He grabbed the menu, scanning it more closely this time around. “Fine. I’ll get the tiramisu. Sugar, alcohol, and coffee… upsetting enough for your stomach?”
I nodded, my stomach grumbling longingly. “Perfect. It makes me hate you a little, though.”
Eric leaned back in his chair and gave me a feral grin. “You could never hate me.”
The absolute certainty in his words made me wonder if he knew something I didn’t, since we were just getting to know each other.
Being sick sucked ass.
I leaned against the wall of the elevator and closed my eyes. That doctor’s visit had been extremely unpleasant. My doc wasn’t one to mince words, and he’d ripped me a new one when I’d admitted how long my stomach had been bugging me and exactly what my diet had been like the past two months.
And yeah, seeing as the single trip had fucking drained my energy, he might have a point.
I let out a yawn and rubbed my forearm where it was still stinging from that stupid infusion. Apparently, they were working. My iron levels were still abysmal, if I wanted to quote my doctor, but not as abysmal as when they’d checked them in the hospital.
Soo… yay, progress.
Still, I wanted nothing more than to crash on my couch and sleep for another couple of hours.
Why had I made an appointment at nine in the fucking morning?
Oh, right, because I’d followed my stalker’s directions and had called and just agreed to the first slot they’d offered. Now I was suffering the consequences.
Maybe my outing yesterday had been more exhausting than I’d realized, though I hadn’t really done anything aside from lounging in a chair and talking with Eric, a guy I’d only ever met twice before—one time of which I couldn’t even remember—but who felt like I’d known my whole life.
He was familiar, comfortable, and easy to talk to.
The conversation between us had jumped from one topic to the next, never going too deep, just a lighthearted chat.
He was a strange one, an enigma I couldn’t figure out.
There was something rigid about him, something that felt slightly off, but at the same time, he was so warm, giving away his smiles freely.
And damn, his smile was beautiful—teeth perfect, pearly white, his eyes flashing whenever he looked at me.
I definitely wanted to see him again.
The only problem was that I had no idea if he was into guys. He hadn’t commented on my sexuality at all, and hadn’t treated me differently, but that didn’t mean he was gay. Or bi. Or pan. It just meant he wasn’t an ass.
Which would be enough if all I wanted was friendship, but that wasn’t why I wanted to see him again.
I liked the guy. I really liked him. Which seemed a bit crazy considering I barely knew him, but… it didn’t feel like I barely knew him. When we’d talked yesterday, I’d felt like I’d known him my whole life.
The elevator dinged, and the doors slid open. I mustered up the energy to let go of the wall and head to my apartment door, my eyes immediately checking for notes.
No Post-it, no white sheet of paper.
I let out a breath of relief.
Maybe now that I was starting to get better, my stalker would just… disappear. After all, he’d only started leaving notes when I was sick.
But when I got closer to my apartment door, I jolted. Nestled right in the corner of the doorframe sat a gift basket wrapped in clear cellophane foil. A sticker on top of the foil proudly told me where it’d been acquired—at Teas ’n’ Roses, the very café I’d met Eric at.
Icy coldness raced down my spine, spreading throughout my whole body, chilling me to my fingertips.
How?
How did he know that?
Was he following me?
I turned my head, checking every direction, but the hall was completely empty.
With trembling hands, I picked up the small basket and unlocked my door.
Part of me wanted to throw it out immediately, but I didn’t. Instead, I carried it to my couch and carefully placed it on the coffee table.
After I’d taken off my jacket and shoes, I sat down on the couch, right in front of the basket, staring at the offending gift, trying to dissect it without having to actually open it.
What if it were poisoned? What if I picked it up and got drugged through touch? I’d listened to a true crime podcast talking about something like this.
I snorted. Sure. Someone would try to drug me via a gift basket, after I’d accepted groceries my stalker had ordered for me twice.
If he really wanted to drug me, he could’ve done so by now.
Also, he could’ve just applied the drugs to my doorknob, right? No need for a fucking gift basket, I could very well have just kicked.
Nope.
This had to be a genuine gift. An incredibly creepy one. A gift that crossed all kinds of boundaries, but a gift.
And it’d be rude not to open it, right? I mean, I could always throw it out if I didn’t like it. Opening it didn’t mean accepting it. And if I ever needed to tell the police about this whole thing, I should make sure it was actually a gift my stalker had sent. Maybe it was from Eric?
I laughed. Yeah, right. If Eric was the one who’d sent me the gift, I’d managed to gain two stalkers within the span of a month. Because I hadn’t given Eric my address. We’d parted ways in front of the café.
Nope. This wasn’t his doing.
Which meant my stalker was following me around, and I’d had no clue. Perfect. Just perfect.
Shaking my head, I tugged at the small bow holding the cellophane foil in place and watched as it came apart so I could reach in and grab the small basket.
The whole thing even smelled like the café.
Warm, homey, like herbal tea and sugar. Well, the two packages of loose tea inside might be responsible for the herbal smell.
I carefully grabbed one and read the label. A “get better soon” custom blend for stomach aches.
Wait… did custom blend mean my stalker had asked someone to make the blend specifically? Or did they sell these? Ugh. I’d have to find out.
I reached for the second package and snorted a laugh. Inner Peace.
Yeah, thank you very much, my stalker. You know what would give me peace? If I could stop having to worry about a fucking weirdo stalking me.
Still, the tea smelled good. A little sweet, a little spicy, with a bit of warmth.
Perfect. Now my stalker not only knew what tea was good for me, but he also knew what kinds I might actually like when I wasn’t a slave to my own finicky stomach.
The last items in the small basket were a mug and a small sieve for the loose tea. At least my stalker was thoughtful, because I didn’t have one. If it weren’t for my grandma, I probably wouldn’t even know what the small silver thing was.
Taking out the mug, I realized there was a note for me after all, rolled up and placed in it.
Something inside me tightened. My fingers trembled as I grabbed it. The paper had a bit of weight to it, not flimsy at all. A bit like one of those expensive letter papers no one but my grandma’s generation used.
Dear Finn,
Thank you for following my advice and talking to your regular doctor. It’s good to see you slowly getting your color back. Please keep up with your checkups so as not to endanger your recovery.
I got you a little gift basket. I know I already provided tea, but this one is superior by far to anything I could’ve gotten from the grocery store.
I can’t wait to check your iron levels to make sure they increase properly.
What. The. Actual. Fuck?
I turned my head, searching for cameras inside my apartment, suddenly feeling as if someone was watching me.
There were none—of course, there were none—how would they have gotten here? But it felt awful.
He couldn’t wait to check my iron levels? What was that supposed to mean?
Wrapping my arms around my middle, I slowly got up and walked over to the window and looked outside. The street below was busy, with people walking by and cars stuck in traffic. No one was looking up; no one appeared to be watching me.
But someone was.
And I’d been kidding myself when I’d thought my stalker might actually not be that bad a guy.
Yes, ordering groceries was kind of nice. Having someone worry about my health was nice, too. And the gift basket? Almost thoughtful.
But that note? Creepy.
Shaking my head, I gathered the contents of the basket and banished them to the furthest corner of my cupboard.
I would not be drinking his tea.
This needed to stop.
And the first step was setting up boundaries.
No more gifts. No more groceries.
I wouldn’t let myself be bought until I gave in and let that creep do whatever weird medical stuff he was apparently fantasizing about.
This stopped now.