Chapter Seventeen
Ruby
Monday Morning
The morning air bites just enough to wake me up before the coffee does. I balance my phone between my shoulder and ear as I pull into the gym parking lot. “I’m telling you, it was weird.”
Emily sighs into the line. “Yeah, weird like check your locks weird.”
“No. Small-town weird,” I say. “Probably.”
“You got a package with no return address. With your name and address in block letters.”
“It was chocolates, Em. Not a severed finger. Someone wrote the letters, not cut out of newspapers and magazines.” I shiver despite the warmth of the coffee surging through me.
“Low bar.”
I grab my bag and head inside, phone cocked between my shoulder and ear. “It’s probably Brent. He’s asked me out several times and even though I’ve said no, he still finds a way to hover around me. He probably decided sugar would improve his odds.”
“If chocolate guaranteed a date, every single guy in town would be camped outside Chloe’s Bakery.”
“Not hardly.” Xavier’s face flashes into my head, and I shove it away. He’d never have to resort to chocolate to get a date. And he’d never give me chocolate. If anything, I’m like his best friend’s little sister. Only, I don’t have a brother. Or a sister.
Why am I thinking about him? Stop it.
“I didn’t eat them.” I click my keys to ensure I lock my car. It might be Brookhaven, but crime has started to inch its way out of the city. “They’re still sitting on the counter like evidence.”
“Because you’re creeped out.”
I push through the door. “I’m… mildly unsettled.”
“That’s a fancy way of saying creeped out.” I don’t have to see her to know she rolled her eyes.
“I have to go,” I mutter, spotting a small crowd forming near the desk. “Call you later.”
“Text me if anything else happens.”
As usual, the gym smells like citrus cleaner, rubber mats, and sweat. No chocolates. Or handwritten notes.
When I round the desk, I stop. There’s a vase of flowers beside the computer. White lilies and red roses, tied with a matching ribbon that looks shiny enough to come with its own personality. Greg never gets flowers for the front desk.
I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding, set my bag behind the desk, and log into the computer as a group of clients approaches.
"Morning."
"Good morning."
I check memberships, answer a question about class times, and point someone toward the locker rooms. By the time they've dispersed to their workout areas, the knot in my stomach has loosened a little.
The front door jingles. Brent. Of course.
He spots me immediately and changes course, making a beeline for the desk, a grin already settling into place.
"Morning, Ruby."
“Morning.” I rub my hands over my jeans. One second, I was chilly, and the next, my hands are coated in sweat.
His brow creases. “Wow. Someone’s trying to impress you.”
My stomach tightens as I take the extended membership card from his grasp while being careful not to let our fingers touch. “Were you?”
He laughs. “Not this time.”
Not this time. That doesn’t help.
“Have a good workout.” I slide his membership card back across the counter. I’m not willing to risk an accidental touch if I can help it.
He leans against the counter as Lindsey strides by on her way to the nearest treadmill. “Do you have time to show me around?”
“Not today.” I keep my tone even. The guy’s been here several times.
There’s no way he needs to be shown around.
And he clearly didn’t read the room when Greg got mad the other day that I was spending too much time away from the front desk.
“You’ll have to get one of the trainers to show you around. ”
He blinked again as if he was wondering if he misheard me. “You’re… sure?”
“I’m sure.”
“Well….” He clears his throat. “How about that date?”
“Thank you, but I’m not interested.” A couple of people at the nearest weight machines pretend not to listen as heat creeps up my neck.
Brent rubs the back of his neck. “Right. Yeah. Okay.”
The treadmill Lindsey’s using squeals like it’s invested in the outcome, and everyone at the Burger Bunker will know about me turning him down before my shift is over. He grabs his bag and heads toward the locker rooms without another word.
“Well done.”
Greg’s voice comes from my right. I turn to find him leaning against the counter, coffee in hand, watching Brent disappear down the hallway.
“He’s been creeping around too long,” Greg says. “You handled that exactly right.”
“I told him I wasn’t interested.”
“You set a boundary,” he corrects. “That matters, and you followed my rules of letting the trainers handle the floor responsibilities.”
I nod, unsure how to respond to his praise, given that our last several interactions have been strained.
Greg’s gaze sweeps the desk, then the entryway, then back to me. A beat longer than necessary. “Let me know if he gives you trouble.”
“I will.”
He gives a satisfied nod and heads back toward his office, the door closing behind him with a soft click.
The gym settles into its morning rhythm of check-ins, class questions, someone asking where the disinfectant wipes are like they haven’t been in the same spot since before I started.
When I reach for a pen, I notice a small cream envelope tucked between the flower stems. RUBY. My name is written across the front. My pulse stutters.
The door to Greg’s office is closed. He didn’t mention the flowers. Maybe they’re from a member. Maybe they’re a mistake.
Maybe…. I slide the envelope out. Inside is a small card.
You looked tired last week. Thought these might brighten your day.
No name. The same careful block lettering. My fingers go cold. Saturday, the chocolates. Monday, flowers. My throat tightens, half-expecting someone to be standing at the entrance watching me read it.
The door opens and closes with the usual morning traffic, nothing unusual, nothing out of place. But everything feels out of place.
I slide the card back into the envelope and tuck it beneath the vase, like hiding it will make it less real. It’s probably Brent. It must be Brent.
But he said, ‘not this time.’ If it’s not him, then who? Besides, I wouldn’t put it past him to lie about it. I don’t know why he would, but nothing else makes sense.
I straighten the stack of waivers and focus on the computer screen, forcing my breathing to even out.
The lilies’ scent drifts upward, sweet, heavy, almost suffocating—the door jingles. Someone laughs. A treadmill starts. Life continues like always.
But the flowers sit beside me, silent and watchful.
“Last week,” I repeat under my breath. Someone was watching me last week. And for the first time, the gym doesn’t feel entirely safe.