Chapter Nineteen
Ruby
By the time my shift ends, my shoulders feel like they’ve been holding up the building.
The afternoon rush thins as the steady rhythm of check-ins and towel requests fades into the low hum of treadmills and distant music. I log out of the computer and stack the waivers into neat, pointless piles.
“Heading out?” Greg’s voice comes from behind me.
I turn to find him leaning against the counter, arms crossed, coffee long gone but the cup still in his hand like a prop. “Yeah.” I stand, stretching to ease the tension. “See you tomorrow.”
His gaze lingers, not inappropriate, not exactly. Just more focused than usual.
“You’ve been leaving right on time lately.”
Something in the wording prickles. “That’s when my shift ends.”
“Right. Just seems like you’re in a hurry to get out of here.”
Why in the fuck would I stay later? “I have a life outside the front desk.”
“Of course,” he says, smiling, but it doesn’t reach his eyes. “Just remember, this place runs smoother when you’re here.”
The compliment lands wrong. What’s that supposed to mean? That he expects me to work for free? “I’ll be here tomorrow.”
He studies me a second longer, then steps aside. “Drive safe.”
“Always do.”
I grab my bag and stride for the door, the lilies and roses still sitting on the desk behind me. I didn’t throw them out. I don’t know why. I guess because they’re pretty and didn’t do anything to offend me. It was the sender that stepped out of line, not the flowers themselves.
Outside, the evening air is colder than it was this morning as the sky fades toward dusk. Dark clouds settle on the horizon as lightning crackles in the distance. The parking lot is half empty, long shadows stretching between the cars.
I hit the unlock button and approach my car. Something white flutters under the wiper blade. My stomach drops as I stop a few feet away, scanning the lot.
Several parking spots away, a couple loads gym bags into an SUV as someone else jogs down the sidewalk with earbuds in, and a minivan pulls out of the lot. Normal. Ordinary. No one watching.
Or at least, no one obvious.
I pull the folded paper free with fingers that don’t feel entirely steady. It’s handwritten. A few short lines, looping script that’s different from the block letters on the package and the flower card.
Roses are red.
The sky’s turning gray.
I watch you leave.
At the end of each day.
My pulse roars in my ears as I turn, scanning the lot again. The windows of the gym reflect the fading light, mirrors hiding anyone who might be standing inside.
Someone could be watching. Someone could’ve watched. My skin prickles as my heart pounds in my ears. Someone put this under my windshield.
“It’s nothing,” I whisper to myself as the roll of thunder rumbles the ground. “It’s stupid. It’s a joke.”
Except, it doesn’t feel like a joke. I crumple the paper in my fist, then smooth it back out. This could be evidence. Of what, I don’t know, but tossing it into the trash feels wrong.
I get in the car and lock the doors. My hands tremble once on the steering wheel. I’m not going home. I’m going to Emily’s.
Emily’s house glows warm against the early dark, porch light casting a soft circle across the steps. I knock once before the door swings open.
Emily stands there in leggings and an oversized sweatshirt, baby Grace balanced on her hip, tiny fingers tangled in Emily’s hair.
“Ruby?” Her eyes widen. “What’s wrong?”
“I need to come in.”
She steps aside. “Of course.”
The house smells like baby powder and something simmering on the stove. Jake looks up from the couch, where he’s assembling something small and plastic with the concentration of a man defusing a bomb.
He stands when he sees my face. “What happened?”
I hold out the folded note.
Emily moves Grace to her other hip and takes it, her eyes scanning the lines. Jake steps closer, reading over her shoulder, his expression tightening with every word.
“Where did you get this?” Jake’s voice is clipped, instantly morphing into the official tone he uses when he’s working.
“On my windshield,” I say. “After work.”
Jake’s jaw flexes. “Today?”
“Yes.”
He holds out his hand. “Let me see.”
I pass him the paper. He studies the handwriting as it might confess under pressure. It’s nice having a friend with a boyfriend who's a police officer.
“It’s different handwriting from the chocolates.” I wrinkle my nose. “And someone left flowers for me today. They were sitting on the front desk when I got to work.”
His brow furrows deeper with each reveal. “Were the flowers unusual?”
“No. Roses and lilies. But also yes, because my name was on the envelope with no name on the card.” I let out a breath that feels like it’s been sitting in my lungs for two days. “Same block lettering as the chocolate package.”
Emily’s eyes flash as she turns from fastening Grace into her swing. “It’s gotta be Brent.” She grabs Jake’s bicep. “You know the sleeveless creep at the gym.”
“Yeah.” Jake nods. “I know.”
Emily lets go of Jake, pacing the floor. Grace babbles happily in her oblivious state. I wish I was her.
“If it’s not Brent, then who would it be?” Emily asks to no one in particular.
Jake’s voice is calm in that way that says he’s not calm. “Did you report any of it?”
“No. I didn’t even consider it. That would feel like overreacting to something small.”
“It’s not.” His response is immediate, making the knot in my stomach constrict. If he thinks I’m not overreacting, it’s hard to pretend it’s nothing. Jake isn’t the type to placate.
Emily shakes her head and stops in place. “Three anonymous notes in a few days is a big deal.”
I swallow over the growing lump in my throat. “Greg’s been acting strangely too.”
Jake's attention sharpens. “How so?”
“Nothing major,” I say. “Just comments. Today he said the place runs smoother when I’m there, like I owe him something for that—or like he expected me to stay late without pay. And he keeps making a big deal whenever I’m away from the desk.”
Emily’s lips press into a thin line as the first drops of rain hit the windowpanes. “You don’t owe him anything.”
Jake folds the note, as it might break. “Anyone else have access to your address?”
“I don’t know. It’s a small town. Anyone could know where I live.”
Silence takes root in the room, heavy but not empty. Grace squeals and kicks her pink sock covered feet, saving us from drowning in it.
Emily looks at me. “You shouldn’t be alone right now.”
“I’m not.” I motion around the living room. “I’m here.”
“You shouldn’t be alone at your house.” The exasperation is evident in her voice as she narrows her eyes at me.
Jake nods. “She’s right.”
“I’m fine. I’m probably making way too big of a deal about this. Aren’t people supposed to be excited about secret admirers? Isn’t it supposed to be romantic?”
Jake gives me a look that is pure cop. “You have someone leaving notes on your vehicle saying they’re watching you and having packages delivered to your house and delivering flowers to your work. Anonymously. That crosses a line. We aren’t in the movies.”
“Xavier said the same thing. About lines.” I look down at my hands. They’re right. But I’m grasping at straws here. I don’t want someone to push me out of my home or my job. I don’t have anywhere else to live, and I need my paycheck.
Emily’s brows lift. “You told him?”
“Not about the note on the windshield. But he was there when the mailman delivered the chocolates, and he saw the flowers this morning.” Grace’s baby swing comes to a stop. Her mouth puckers as if she’s about to cry, but she doesn’t. “He mentioned there’s an opening at his dad’s office.”
Jake nods. “That might not be a bad idea.”
Emily pushes the swing’s button, making it rock back and forth again. “At least until this stops.”
The word until settles in my chest like a stone. I didn’t think there would be an until. I thought it was just small-town weird.
I straighten my shoulders, forcing myself not to shudder. Lightning and thunder continue to snap and roll around us. “I don’t want to run.”
Jake’s voice softens. “Changing jobs isn’t running. It’s removing access.”
Emily nods. “You deserve to feel safe at work.”
I look around the room, at Grace’s tiny, socked feet kicking in the air, at Jake’s steady presence, at Emily’s unwavering concern. At people who don’t make me feel like I’m overreacting.
“I’ll think about it.”
Outside, the wind rattles the windows as rain pelts the windows. And for the first time since I saw the note under my wiper blade, the feeling of being watched begins to ease.