13. Faith
At the very most, I lived fifteen minutes from work. So half an hour after Hudson disappeared with my keys, I started checking the entrance for him to reappear every few seconds.
He never did.
Cadence finished helping Rodrigo in the kitchen and finally relieved me of half of my duties, which only left me with more time to glance at the clock and start to worry.
At forty-five minutes, I was sweating. But where the hell was he? He’d had way more time than he needed to get there and back.
After delivering food to a table of five, I tugged my phone from my pocket and checked the screen to make sure I didn’t have any missed messages.
Dammit. But if he didn’t get back here within?—
“Ma’am?”
I glanced up to find someone from one of my stations lifting their finger to catch my attention.
“Can we get a refill over here?”
Not until I get my keys, I wanted to growl. But I nodded and smiled back as I answered, “Sure thing, hon. I’ll get that right out.”
Returning my phone to my pocket, I hurried toward the bar to put in my order, and work kept me hopping for the next fifteen minutes.
By the time I was able to pause again, my blood pressure was climbing.
Whipping out my phone, I went into my missed call history and brought up his number so I could send him a text. I didn’t want to call in case he’d been in a fender bender or something and was currently busy filling out an incident report. And I was proud of just how chill I sounded as I pushed send.
Hey, just checking in. It’s been an hour. Everything okay?
For some reason, I actually expected him to answer straight away with some kind of gushing, apologetic reassurance that he’d be here shortly. I even kept my phone app open and waited for three little dots to appear with his response. When nothing happened inside of a minute, not even proof that he’d read my message, I released a shaky breath.
What the hell did I do now? I couldn’t just drive over there and check on him. I was stuck at work, and besides, he had my damn keys.
“Yo, Woods?” Ravi called, making me jump. I glanced up, trying not to panic, and he motioned toward the entrance. “Bianca’s going to take a quick break. Can you fill in for her at the hostess station until she gets back?”
No, I could not fill in for Bianca. Or Cadence. Or whoever he wanted to boink these days. I had my own damn job to do. And a sexy, irritating, non-present man to strangle.
But I sent my supervisor a stiff smile and answered from unmoving lips, “Will do, Ravi.”
That took up nearly half an hour of my time. When Bianca hurried back, trying to smooth out her mussed hair and tuck her shirt back in, I only shook my head and sighed before spotting the big clock over the hostess station and remembering, shit, my keys.
I hurried back to relieve Hannah from the tables she’d had to cover for me, and then yanked my phone free. I still had no response to my first message, so I sent another.
If you can respond, please do so. Hope you’re not dead in a ditch.
With my keys.
I didn’t get a response to that text either. Another fifteen minutes passed before I shot off message number three.
It’s been nearly two hours. This isn’t funny. I’m beginning to think you BETTER be dead in a ditch right now.
But as soon as I pushed send, the shame took over, and I immediately felt guilty about saying such a shitty thing…especially if something really bad had happened. So I rushed to send another.
Don’t be dead in a ditch. Just…get my keys back to me.
But that still sounded too heartless to my ears, so I kept going as if an awful case of word vomit had just plagued me.
Unless you’re in an ambulance on the way to the hospital. I don’t expect them back then.
Except, I still needed them somehow by the time I got off work, or I was going to be up a creek without a paddle for sure. So I quickly added more.
I mean, I still need them no matter what. Maybe have a friend get them back to me.
There. That sounded better. Right?
Ugh. No, it sounded awful. I was awful, plus a moron on top of that.
I quickly stuffed the phone away before I could be any more of a doofus, and I returned to work.
After another half of an hour, however, I couldn’t handle it anymore.
I called his phone. Which went straight to voicemail.
“Hey, this is Hudson. Tell me your hopes and dreams.”
God, I loved his rich, creamy voice.
When the phone beeped, I was still sighing over getting to hear it that I’d almost forgotten why I was even calling in the first place. But then I remembered, keys, right?
“It’s me,” I said. Then I felt the need to add, “Faith Woods, your not-stalker whose keys you have.” But it felt weird saying that, so I cleared my throat before continuing. “Anyway, just checking in to see if everything’s okay. I’m starting to get worried.”
Except I was way past worried.
Clearing my throat again, I lamely added, “Okay, bye.”
I huffed out a defeated breath as I hung up and let my shoulders slump. Then, I glanced around the restaurant at everyone who was eating their meals, going on as if absolutely nothing was wrong. It felt weird to see them act so unconcerned.
But I really needed to get back to serving them if I wanted to keep my job, so I shook off my funk and popped back into action.
After the three-hour mark, all concern left me, and I just grew mad.
From that point on, I kept my phone in one hand at all times, so I could text after every station I stopped at.
You’re an asshat, do you know that?
You said you’d bring my keys right back.
How the hell am I supposed to get home tonight?
How will I get into my apartment?
You realize you’ve just made me fucking homeless, right? And I can’t even sleep in my car either because it’s LOCKED.
I can’t believe I trusted you.“I hope Genesis gives you chlamydia, and you die a slow and painful death.
I was about to add that I would no longer be stalking or pining after him when a voice from directly behind me said, “Damn, Stalker. Relax. I’m here.”
With a gasp, I spun around. And there was Hudson, looking perfectly healthy and even smiling. Until he furrowed his brow and added, “That chlamydia thing was kind of insensitive, though. One of my friends actually lost his mom, slowly and painfully, because of an STD.”
“Oh my God!” I railed at him as I stormed forward. “It’s been nearly four hours! Why did you never reply to me?”
He shrugged. “Well, by the time I checked my phone and saw that you’d sent a gazillion messages, I decided your notes were way too entertaining to stop you there. I mean, I had to see what you were going to say next.”
“You…” I didn’t even know how to respond to that. I was too befuddled and absolutely frustrated by the whole situation.
In front of me, Hudson grinned mischievously and lifted my keys up by his face to jingle them tauntingly. “So I hear you may possibly want these back.”
“Ugh. Where the hell have you been?” I demanded, making a grab for them, only to scowl ominously when he pulled them out of my reach. Slapping my hands to my hips, I seethed. “I told you to go straight to the apartment and straight back. No detours. My keys did not need to go on a joyride. Where did you even take them, anyway? Out on the town for a couple of drinks?”
“Hey, what happened between me and the keys stays between me and the keys.”
“Stop avoiding my question. You were supposed to go straight there and come straight back.”
“That’s what I did,” he assured before wincing. “Mostly.”
“Mostly?” I cried. “What the hell?” With a gasp, I pulled a horrified step back. “Oh my God. Please don’t tell me you went off to have sex. With my keys?”
“Er…” He winced in revulsion. “Is that even anatomically possible? Sounds kind of painful, to be honest.”
I growled. “Where did you go?”
He better not say Genesis’s name, or I’d lose it. I’d just…lose it.
“I mean…” He shrugged and sent me a rueful grimace. “You were out of milk. I thought I’d be a nice guy and get you some more. You know… To pay you back for doing me such a solid.”
I blinked at him twice. “Except I wasn’t out of milk,” I countered.
An immediate grin spread across his face. “You were after I was done with it.”
“You… Wha… You drank my milk?” I shrieked in outrage. “Oh my God. What were you even doing in my refrigerator? Your watch was not in my refrigerator.”
“Hey, you made a funny,” he answered with an approving nod as he pointed to congratulate me for such a comeback. “Cute. You’re right, though. The watch might not have been in there, but your food was. And food’s kind of my thing. I’m intrigued by the cookies that were on your counter, by the way. Do you happen to have a recipe for those?”
Steam started to puff from my ears, I swear. “You ate my cookies?”
He took a cautious step back and quickly answered. “No. Of course not. That would be super inappropriate. If you’ll recall, I said I was intrigued, ergo I asked for a recipe in the hopes of making and trying my own batch.”
“Then, no,” I growled, taking an intimidating step forward and glaring hotly. “I don’t have a fucking recipe because I didn’t fucking make them. They were a gift.” And with that, I held out my hand, palm up. “Now give me my damn keys.”
Wincing, he pulled a step away. “Only if you promise not to stab me with them.”
I arched my eyebrows. “I make no such promise.”
Whistling, he shook his head. “Damn, you’re violent.” Then, he sent me a slanted, sideways glance. “That’s kind of hot.”
I huffed out an impatient breath. “Hudson!”
“Alright, alright. Here.” He easily set the keys in my hand, only to remain holding on as I closed my fingers around them so that I was basically holding his hand.
The sensation of his flesh startled me, and I blinked up at him, dumbfounded by the sudden sincerity in his expression.
“From the bottom of my heart, Faith Woods, thank you,” he murmured. “You royally saved my bacon tonight.”
Then he leaned in and gently pressed his lips to the center of my forehead.
And fuck.
All the emotions swamped me, especially the guilt; he was only in this situation because I’d taken his watch home in the first place…to do awful, nefarious things that probably would’ve gotten his ass dumped from Genesis and in turn gotten him fired from his job, which had been the one thing he’d been working the hardest to avoid.
But then…sigh. He’d just kissed me. His mouth had been on my skin. And the wet spot that remained sent a shiver of delight over my entire body.
“You should’ve led with that,” I confessed hollowly as I gazed at him with dazed awe.
Because he’d just kissed me.
Hudson sent me one of his sly, knowing smiles. “Fuck, you’re good for my ego, Stalker. Don’t ever change.” Chucking me lightly just under the chin, he sent me a farewell wink and then turned away to stroll off, leaving me feeling empty and abandoned.
* * *
It was wellafter one in the morning before I made it back to my apartment, and I was anxious to see if Hudson had really messed with my milk and cookies or not.
With him, it was hard to tell if he was teasing around or being serious about some of the things he said. He always spoke in such a light, joking way. Maybe he’d been bullshitting about everything just to fuck with me.
Then again, what the hell had he been doing for four hours?
When I reached the stairwell that went up to my front door, I dug my phone from my pocket and shined a light up there to guide my way, and surprisingly, no street critter went scurrying off in fright.
I blew out a relieved breath and hurried up, continuing to watch the stairwell with one eye as I unlocked the door.
Once inside, I flipped on the light and shut the door behind me, immediately resetting all the locks as I did. But as soon as I turned around and stepped toward the kitchen area, I slowed to a stop and squinted around the living space instead.
He hadn’t made a mess, not at all. It was still as neat as ever, but everything was somehow…off.
Tilting my head, I realized the pillow I’d had sitting in a side chair was now over on the loveseat.
And that picture hadn’t been hanging on that wall. It’d been over on the?—
“What the hell?” I blurted when I found a new picture where the first had been hanging, but this one looked like an actual photograph of someone. I knew I didn’t have any pictures of people in my apartment because I wasn’t close enough to anyone to actually frame a picture of them.
When I reached the portrait, my mouth dropped open because the picture was of Hudson, and he was lying stretched out on my loveseat while flashing the camera a peace sign and making an exaggerated smoldering expression. A Post-it note was stuck to the bottom right corner saying, “It’s just not right to have no pictures of family or friends in your home, so here you go. You’re welcome.”
I blinked, not even sure what to think about that.
But I was beginning to see why it might have taken him four damn hours to get my keys back to me. He had to have snapped off this shot tonight, then gone out and gotten it printed before buying a frame and coming back to put it all together and hang it.
Needing to know what else he’d tampered with, I whirled toward the kitchen. There was a new Post-it note stuck below the one I’d already left on my cookies, where I’d reminded myself to look up the Jennifer Aniston salad recipe.
I dashed to it, already recognizing Hudson’s heavy scrawl before I read what he’d written.
“I got you covered, girl. One Jennifer Aniston salad made. I even separated it into daily servings so you can eat on the go if you need to. You’re welcome.”
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I uttered aloud as I lifted my attention from the note. But I swear, he’d turned his encroachment on my personal space into some kind of fun, scavengerhunt.
I rushed over to yank the refrigerator door open, only to pull back in surprise.
Because he—he’d cleaned it. And organized everything inside.
A Post-it note hung from the center light, saying, “After seeing how anally organized you keep the rest of your place, Stalker, I’m kind of appalled by the disaster you left your fridge in. But worry not, I fixed it for you. You’re welcome.”
Not only had he thrown out what was probably outdated shit, but he’d purchased new things like milk and butter and eggs, and he’d put them in this tidy order so he could fit in the three stacks of meal prep containers he’d added as well.
Curious, I reached in to pull one out, and on top, a new Post-it note claimed it was the Jennifer Aniston salad, while another container’s label claimed it was full of mini broccoli cheddar quiches, and the third stack contained sheet pan chicken sausage dinners.
The man had cooked for me. Not just one meal either. He’d set up at least three and then separated them so I could eat for the whole week.
I set the container in my hand back inside the refrigerator and quickly shut the door, not sure what to think about this. My fingers lifted to my lips thoughtfully before I glanced around, almost growing eager to see what else he’d done.
It was all so bizarre. He had messed with my things. I should rightfully be pissed. In any other situation, I would be pissed. I couldn’t handle people reorganizing my order.
But for some reason, I was intrigued. Probably because it was Hudson. If anyone else had done this to me, I’m sure I would’ve long since lost my cool.
He was different, though. And everything he did felt different. Even my irritations with him were flushed with curiosity and excitement.
Back in the living room area, I glanced around until I realized my table stand had been moved from one side of my chair to the other.
I wrinkled my nose, unable to make sense of why. He hadn’t left a Post-it note to explain that one.
At least he hadn’t taken anything. Not that I could discern yet, anyway.
Almost fearfully, I entered my bedroom, flipping on the light as I did.
And the cat who’d been curled up on my bed lifted its head, blinking blearily and meowing at me as if scolding me for blinding it.
I jarred to a halt, gaping at it. I even turned from the room and came back in to make sure I was really seeing what I was seeing. But there was an honest-to-God cat lying on my bed, with green eyes, inky black fur, and one little heart-shaped patch of white on its chest.
Completely unconcerned by my presence, the feline laid its head down once more and went back to sleep.
“What is happening?” I finally demanded aloud.
Marching right back out of the room, I found my phone still in my purse. Jerking it free, I logged into my text app and began to type madly.
“What the hell did you do?”
Surprisingly, he answered within moments.
“Oh, hey. You’re home already. I was actually expecting to hear from you way later in the night. Maybe not even until morning.”
Seeing that he was awake, I went ahead and rang him, needing to bitch him out verbally with lots of indignant tonal inflection added to my voice.
“And you may need to be a bit more specific with your question,” he said by way of answering. “If I counted correctly, there were roughly twenty…seven things I did in your apartment tonight.”
I shook my head, completely flabbergasted by his answer. “But why?” I asked, needing to know that first and foremost.
“Why did I meddle and snoop and shift shit around?” he asked, seeking clarification.
“Yes!” I shrieked. “Wh-wh-why would you even care enough to make such detailed changes?”
“Oh, Stalker,” he said with a refreshed sigh. “You’ll learn this soon enough, but it amuses me to mess with people just to see what makes them tick. And after taking one look around your place, I had this immediate sense that you’re very particular about having a specific placement for every single item in your apartment.”
“So? What? You thought you’d just rearrange all my things to see how pissed it’d make me?”
“Yeah, basically that exactly. Wow, you’re good.”
“But why?”
“I don’t know exactly. Seeing how people act when they reach the end of their patience is a very telling feature about their true personality, and I like cutting past all the polite bullshit when I’m making up my mind on whether I want to befriend someone or not. And let me tell you, darlin’, I think you and I are going to be great friends.”
“Oh my God,” I blustered. “What in the world would make you think I’d even want a psycho like you for a friend after this? I mean… Just foisting a new cat on someone is pretty damn presumptuous, don’t you think?”
“Oh,” he murmured in surprise. “Was Whiskers not already yours? He came inside with me as if he owned the place.”
“No!” I roared. “That is not my cat. I don’t have a cat. I’ve never had a cat. I don’t even want a cat.”
“Well, I gotta tell you, he made himself right at home and jumped on the loveseat and gave himself a bath that lasted the whole time I was cleaning out your fridge. And he used the litter box as if that was what he’d always done.”
“Litter box?” I repeated in alarm. “What litter box? I don’t have a litter box.”
Dear God, just what had he let this mangy cat relieve itself in?
But then Hudson easily answered, “Oh. The litter box I bought him. Along with the food and water bowl. What? Are you telling me you haven’t been in your bathroom yet? Tsk, Tsk, Faith, I’m a little disappointed by your lack of?—”
“Holy shit!” After rushing into the bathroom and flipping on a light, I gaped at the sight of the litter box pushed against the wall and out of the way in a corner. A filled food and water bowl sat next to it. “I—I cannot believe you went out and bought a litter box and bowls and freaking cat food too. How did the absence of them not clue you into the fact that the cat wasn’t mine in the first place?”
But not only that; he’d bought me more toilet paper and then stuck my Post-it note reminder on the package, writing You’re welcome at the bottom.
“No, you’re right,” he admitted almost regretfully. “I knew the cat wasn’t yours, but that apartment just screamed loneliness. I can’t handle the idea of you being lonely, Faith. You need some companionship. Plus, cats are about the most independent pets to own. I think you two will get along just fine.”
“What if I’m allergic?” I countered.
To which I could almost picture him shrugging. “Well, are you?”
“I honestly don’t know,” I admitted. “I’ve never been around a cat long enough to find out.”
“You’re not sneezing,” he spoke up. “I bet you’re okay.”
“But I don’t want a cat, dammit. I’m not even sure if I’m allowed to have one in this apartment.”
“I’m sure you are,” he said as he completely ignored the first part of my newest complaints. “I swear, I remember seeing a haggard, old cat with a missing eye hanging out in the store below when I was a teenager. Why wouldn’t they let you keep one up there, too?”
“And what if it’s full of diseases and fleas?” I went on. “I seriously cannot believe you just let some mangy thing in off the street. It’s lying on top of my bed right now, I hope you know.”
“Stalker, relax,” Hudson cut in. “He’s not an alley cat. I was kidding about that. I went to the pet store and got him, okay? I even have all the paperwork, detailing when he had his shots. It’s in the drawer of the table next to your recliner.”
Pressing a hand to my brow, I closed my eyes and groaned over the headache he’d just given me. “I can’t believe you did this. This has to be the most bizarre, impudent thing anyone’s ever done to me, I swear.”
“Hey, it’s not that big of a deal. If you don’t want him, just let him out with the rest of the street cats you got hanging out in your alley.”
“Are you insane?” I cried. “I can’t just let a tamed litterbox-trained house cat out on the street to fend for itself. It’d be dead within the week.”
“Well, if you care about him so much, then keep him.”
“But I don’t want a cat,” I snapped. “I don’t even know if I like cats.”
“Alright, then how about you give him a week to see if you two get along? If he doesn’t pass your trial run, then I’ll come over myself and personally return him to the pet store. Okay?”
I sniffed, still outraged as I shook my head.
Completely befuddled about this entire situation, I blurted, “I—I cannot believe you went to so much effort and spent so much money just to mess with me like this. It—it just…it’s…”
I honestly didn’t know what to do with this. Hudson Ivey had to be the strangest man I’d ever met. And I was too flabbergasted by him to be truly upset about any of it. Even the cat present was kind of…sweet.
I mean, he didn’t want me to be lonely. How could that not melt my heart completely?
Except how the hell had he known just how lonely I was by simply snooping around my apartment for a few minutes—er, hours?
I suddenly felt stripped bare and exposed. But instead of being embarrassed and uncomfortable and indignant about it, I felt all hot and tingly. And special.
Because no one had ever wanted to dig around in my life and try to learn me the way he just had.
“Hey, Stalker,” he murmured, making my toes curl in longing over the rich, silken qualities of his voice.
“What?” I asked hoarsely, needing to clear my voice as soon as I spoke.
“You’re welcome,” he said in a gentle way that told me he knew exactly what I was thinking.
Then he hung up, leaving me breathless and too scatter-brained to know what to do next.
Dropping the phone to my side, I blinked at the cat on my bed and finally released a heavy sigh.
“Well fuck,” I mumbled.