Chapter 1 Serena
Valentine’s Day has been my favorite holiday for as long as I can remember. I used to say I was born with a love for love, yet cursed with failed relationships year after year. Maybe that was my destiny—to help others find their happily ever after while fearing that I’d never find mine.
But this year is going to be different. It is different. Because of him. He appeared out of nowhere, determined to win my heart despite my understandable reservations.
She nearly fell out of her chair when I accused her of being my secret admirer.
Not because she had left them and been caught red-handed, but because she was happy for me, and wanted all the details.
Immediately, I looped her in, showing her the stack of love letters I’d accumulated, and with each one, her eyes widened with awe.
I should probably be creeped out by the notes and the thought of a stranger bringing valentines to my home, but … I’m not.
Whenever I open a card up, it’s like wrapping every inch of my body around a live wire, warming me to the core in a way I’ve never experienced before.
Would that make me the first person to die in a scary movie? Yeah, absolutely. One hundred percent. Let’s just hope my guy is more of a fan of horror erotica than stabby, stalker horror.
Besides, I have a door camera, like every other single woman who lives alone, on both my front and back doors, and even though my cameras always record his visits, I’ve never seen his face.
He always parks out of view, always has an oversize hood up, always wears a creepy burgundy leather mask with red heart eyes, and never drives past my house before or after his stop.
On occasion, other people have delivered the letters, some wearing his mask, and some that looked to be unmarked delivery drivers. I could tell from their walk and demeanor; they’re different from him.
I’ve come to memorize the actual man who consistently visits me, so when someone new shows up, they stand out like a sore thumb, especially because they’re maskless.
But it’s only happened a handful of times, and I assumed he was busy during those days and couldn’t manage to get away.
From the footage, there are a few things that I’m sure of. My guy is tall, like well over six feet tall. He’s muscular as hell—clear as day by how he fills his clothes out; even the baggy sweatshirts do little to hide his wide frame.
The most recent discovery—and by far the best—was hearing his voice for the first time during his last visit when he whispered into the camera, “Hi, Serena.”
These combined things do little to warn me away. If anything, it’s like I’m starving and can only feed on his attention.
Is it a societal problem that attractiveness makes someone trigger our fight-or-flight in different ways than someone we find unattractive?
Yes, because the level of danger hiding beneath the surface has nothing to do with the appearance on the outside.
But here I am, falling victim to my desires anyway.
All I know is that no one has ever done something like this for me before, and as crazy as it is, I really hope it’s not ending.
Then came the other surprises—a shoveled driveway, garbage set out at my curb on collection day, and flowers and presents on my doorstep. But then he got more comfortable, leaving his gifts inside my house.
I have no clue how he’s getting in, but every time he does, my cameras go out for a second, completely shutting down. He always enters through my garage, never the front door.
Based on the rabbit hole of research I fell down when trying to figure out how he was doing it, I’m guessing he has some kind of jammer for the cameras and a universal control or flipper device for the garage. But even that leads me to more questions, like how he’s getting inside the second door.
More and more, he’s becoming a living ghost in my life.
I’ll come home from work to find laundry washed, dried, and folded on my bed.
He’s even stocked my mini fridge full of Red Bull—my favorite energy drink.
He’s gone as far as cleaning my bathroom—something my ex, whom I lived with for three years, never did once.
He can’t be all that bad, right?
I’ve considered calling the police countless times. I should contact them, like a sane person would. But my hovering thumb can never follow through, no matter how hard I try.
There’s a part of me that doesn’t want to scare him away, that doesn’t want anything to change. Even if he vanishes, I would never be the same.
He’s changed something inside of me, altered my chemistry somehow, and there’s no going back to the Serena Rafferty I was before.
I’ve become a new version of myself that I didn’t know existed until this man popped up in my life. Now, I don’t quite know what my day looks like without him.
While we’ve never spoken or even touched, I feel closer to him than I ever have with my past partners, and my secret admirer has yet to hurt me in the same way they once did.
My alarm sounds, silencing my rambling thoughts and the soft music I was listening to throughout the night.
Irritation creases my brows as I will my body to merge with the bed so I can stay beneath the warm, cozy covers forever.
Winter in Minneapolis in early February makes it damn hard for me to get out of bed some days, as I want to avoid the cold for as long as possible, especially when it’s twenty degrees Fahrenheit outside, like my weather app reports this morning.
However, the weather isn’t the only reason I hesitate to roll out of bed. Out of the past fourteen days since he delivered the first card, he’s never missed a single one … up until today, when I found my front door and house barren of his touch.
I’m starting to wonder if he’s moved on from me—a thought that makes me want to curl up in a fuzzy blanket on my couch and rot for eternity.
But I don’t have time to dwell on the sweet letters and gestures—or lack thereof—right now because it’s one of my busiest times of the year and I’m already running a few minutes behind to get to work.
On the plus side, I won’t have an angry boss yelling at me when I get there because I work for myself and my best friend.
We handle the grunt work of dating, saving everyone time from endless swiping when someone’s potential is summed up in bullet points and six pictures on a dating app.
Everyone’s profile is so carefully constructed that their social media persona is a mere highlight reel of their best self.
We help sort through the surface-level relationships and create lasting couples based on genuine connections.
We only work with local clients, but we hope to expand soon with an app, using the algorithm Kerrigan is building. In the meantime, our focus is on the residents of Minneapolis, Saint Paul, and the surrounding areas.
Our clients fill out a thorough questionnaire and complete rounds of interviews to allow us to find them their perfect match.
They can then meet their match at our office and go on a trial date in a safe and neutral place before deciding if they’d like to continue seeing that person or look for someone new without the risk of sharing private information.
If only I could find a perfect relationship for myself as easily as I do for others. Until then, I will continue to smother my cute fur baby with my love instead.
Freddie, my dapple mini dachshund, yawns and pushes into my arm as he stretches in the blankets beside me.
Running my hand over his silky, soft head, I clear my throat. “Good morning, my handsome angel.”
He blinks the sleepiness away before sitting up and staring at me, wide-eyed, ready for the day. I wish I had his energy, but I’m the worst morning person. The only reason I awoke before my alarm is because I’ve had a hard time sleeping these last couple of days.
Begrudgingly, I throw the covers from my body and swing my legs over the side of the bed. Freddie hops over the blankets, pads toward his ramp, and rushes down, sitting at my feet before I can even step forward across the hardwood floor.
A blossom of hope blooms in my chest as I open my bedroom door, head downstairs, and stride toward my sliding back door to let Freddie out.
There could be a note or a sign that Mr. Mystery was here.
While Freddie goes potty outside, I scan the entire open room—from my kitchen and dining room to the living room and entryway—the hope dwindling with each passing second.
After letting him in, I head to my bathroom, loosely curl my deep auburn hair, and throw on some makeup and lashes before changing into the clothes I picked out last night.
I’m the type of person who will try on a thousand outfits and hate them all the morning of, but if it’s laid out already the night before, for some reason, I love it.
It’s not a flawless system, but it works most of the time.
I slip on the baggy cream-colored sweater dress, stockings, and boots, happy with the ensemble for the day. After I put a matching cream-colored sweater on Freddie, we head out the door.
Kerrigan assaults me with her curiosity before I shut the office door behind me, ignoring whatever she was doing on the computer and sitting up in her chair. “Was there a valentine this morning?”
I turn to her, forcing an overdramatic pout on my face. “No. I think he hates me now.”
Sighing, I set my stuff and Freddie down, slip my coat off, and hang it on the hook. While I might have been disappointed by the masked man this morning, just looking around our office has me feeling a bit better.
We transformed this place from its bare bones into a chic, aesthetic, and welcoming space.
We turned the once-gigantic lobby into our main workspace reception area, complete with lounge seating, plants, and warm and neutral decor with pops of sage green.
The five conference rooms down our one long hallway were converted into dating rooms for our clients.