Luna
Two weeks later
Beep! Beep! Beep!
The microwave alarm pulls me from my morning daze. I press Stop to turn off the alarm, then take out my egg bites.
Binx meows at my feet, waiting impatiently for his food to be served. “Oh, sorry, Binxy. Mama’s head's in the clouds.” I say apologetically. I pull one of his cans of wet food from my cabinet and mash it with a fork in his food bowl.
Over the last few weeks, I've learned that if I give it to him straight out of the can, he will eat it too fast and puke all over my carpets. So, I’ll be a good owner and mash it up for him.
With Binx situated, I sit down at the table and devour my egg bites. I’m running late this morning and don't have a set schedule yet; I just like to keep a routine going once I’ve started one, so it’s back to the gym this morning, and a few other errands.
I run down the stairs of my apartment building, hop in my car, and drive to the gym. The sight of my fire escape in my rear-view window brings me back to two weeks ago.
The Peeping Tom incident was just that, a single incident. I haven’t had any more run-ins with eyeballs staring back at me in my bathroom. No more strange sounds coming from my bedroom window, and no more haunting feeling like someone’s watching me.
I’ve convinced myself that the shadow I saw was a trick of light, or a car passing by on the street below. Nothing more than an illusion.
I’m hoping the incident will spark some creativity, but I haven't written anything substantial yet. I’m starting to worry that I won’t meet my publishing date.
Why can’t I write anything? The first two came out of me like lava erupting from an overactive volcano, but this?
This writer's block is pure torture for me.
The first two are about Vera and how she became a serial killer.
About halfway through the second book, she meets Detective Liam Moore, who becomes her love interest. I have many ideas for the third book, but none have stuck.
I did the one thing an author should avoid to save their sanity: I looked at the reviews.
The main complaint in most negative reviews is that the relationship between Vera and Liam feels robotic, and readers feel there's a lack of passion between them.
I can’t say I blame them. How can I write about people falling in love when I have never been in love?
I thought I loved Greg, but that illusion was quickly shattered, and I’ve never had a serious relationship—would that help?
Can I even be interested in another person after what he did to me?
I want to be in love, but can I love in return?
I sigh deeply, gripping my steering wheel a bit harder.
I’m not sure if I even believe in love anymore. Perhaps it’s a myth, meant only for storytelling.
I pull into the gym parking lot and make my way inside. The air outside is chilly for early October, and I can tell my first winter in Boston would be brutal.
The gym is packed, so I quickly put on my headphones, choose the lone treadmill, and start my workout, leaving the love part of my life to be sorted out through a spicy audiobook.
Forty-five minutes later, a spot at the weightlifting station finally opens, and I wipe down my treadmill, nab the open weight rack, and grab two ten-pound weights. I set them beside my seat and take a moment to drink water.
I pause my audiobook, switch to my gym playlist, and my favorite gym song comes on after I shuffle it. I hold my two ten-pound dumbbells and do simple arm curls as a warm-up. I do three sets, replace the dumbbells, and move on to the bar.
I bend down to grab the bar off the rack, but stop when I feel the sensation of eyes burning into me.
The gym’s packed, Luna. Of course, people are looking at you.
But I can’t help being alert when I remember the last person who had been staring at me.
Watching me.
I shake that blush-inducing thought away and continue with my workout. I pick up the bar, and when I look in the mirror across from me on the gym wall, a man with the most breathtaking smile is staring back at me.
I lose my grip and drop the bar, sending the weights clattering to the ground. I’ve forgotten to secure them. I take my headphones off and start to pick up the weights from the ground when the stranger from the mirror reaches for the same weight I’m reaching for, and suddenly, we are face-to-face.
“Oh, sorry. Hi, I kind of made a mess of things, " the man says.
“No, it’s my fault. I was too into my music and wasn’t paying attention.” I laugh and pick up the other weight, sliding it on the bar.
The man slides the other weight to the opposite side of the bar, and I finally get a good look at his face.
He has dark hair, long enough to push back on the top and tapered on the sides.
He has the greenest eyes I’ve ever seen on a person, and they remind me of lush green pastures—the kind you’d see in Ireland that would make you believe fairies and magic are real.
“I’m Dante, by the way.” He holds out his hand for me to take, and smiles.
Hello, hottie.
“Luna,” I say, shaking his hand. The moment our hands touch, my palm tingles, making me pull back abruptly.
“Sorry, my grip is kind of strong. I didn’t mean to hurt your hand.” Dante says, giving me a cocky grin, and I groan internally, fearing he’s about to be the biggest douche in the gym.
“You didn’t,” I say a little too harshly. He’s being nice and even apologized. I need to relax. “Sorry. I don’t ‘people’ very much as of late, and I’m rusty on social interactions.” I admit.
That’s great, Luna. Admit that you’re a lonely cat lady while you’re at it.
“That’s okay. I can relate. I made you drop your weights because I couldn’t figure out how to ask the prettiest girl at the gym on a date.”
“Oh, where is she?” I ask, looking around the gym. “Maybe I could help?”
Dante laughs, “I’m looking at her.”
My eyes lock on his. “Me?” I say, pointing at myself. Dante nods, and my cheeks heat. “I’m very flattered, Dante. But I just got out of a bad relationship, and I’m not looking for anything right now.” I blurt.
It’s best to shut him down…right?
“That’s a shame. I’m so sorry you had to go through a bad relationship.” He hands me a black card with the initials DW in gold script, a number on the back. “Whenever you're ready, text me.” He gives me a wink, and I swear I pull a muscle trying not to swoon, because fuck, he’s hot.
For a cocky guy, he sure knows how to take rejection. “And if I’m never ready?” I ask, curious to hear his answer.
“That would be a shame. I think we’d have fun together, Luna. But only if you’re ready.”
Dante answers with a smile. “It was nice to meet you, Luna. I hope our paths cross again.” He turns and heads for the exit without looking back.
I stand there like an idiot with my mouth hanging open at the sheer sex appeal this man carries.
He’s so sure of himself, and I admire his confidence, but I’m so confused as to why he’s interested in me.
It's not that I’m not attractive—I am, but he’s hot, like a Greek god kind of hot, and I’ve never received positive attention from this type of man, so it’s just a bit shocking to me that he’s calling me the prettiest girl in the gym.
He was wearing a hoodie and sweatpants, so I couldn’t get an accurate view of his physique.
However, from what I could see, he looks Greek underneath his clothes as well.
Oh, god, Luna. Get it together.
I put my headphones back on, finishing my workout so I can head to the bookstore and end this weird day.
I pull up outside Spines and Steins on E Beverley Street, an Independent bookstore slash brewery in the heart of Boston.
My friend Olivia Wilson, whom I met through VidTok, opened her business several months ago, and I attribute much of my success to her.
With how hard she marketed my books for me, all while I was on the other side of the country, trying to escape.
She deserves all my praise, and I don’t know how I could even begin to repay her.
I walk down the alleyway to get to the employee-only door.
It’s Thursday, and the shop is closed for the day, preparing for the weekend.
The bookstore is genuinely unlike any other in the city.
The brewery portion of the bookstore is open from 5:00 p.m. to 9:00 p.m. during the week, but it closes at midnight on Fridays, Saturdays, and Sundays.
Meanwhile, the bookstore itself opens at 9 a.m. and closes at 10 p.m., allowing the brewery to remain open for patrons to read their newly purchased books or socialize.
The two rooms are separated by a glass door that reminds me of a greenhouse windowpane.
The doorbell chimes as I open it, and a small voice from the back shouts, “Luna? Is that you?”
“It’s me, Liv!” I shout back. I shut and lock the door behind me, turning and making my way to the back of the room.
The shelves that lead to the back are filled with Indie authors from around the country. Whether you’re looking for macabre dark romances or light and fluffy contemporary romances, Spines after reading it, she became obsessed with the storyline and promoted it on her page.
We quickly became friends, and she’s someone I rely on heavily nowadays.
If it weren’t for Olivia, my books would have never taken off the way they did, and I would still be trapped with Greg.
I shudder at the thought and push past the beaded curtain to see Olivia standing on her library ladder, organizing the back shelves. “Hey! The special editions are in!” She squeals, almost tipping herself.