Chapter 2
POV: Gabrielle?
I was 1,500 words into writing up an expose on the local farm to table grocery store which had just opened several locations in Denver.
Last week, their butcher cuts had gotten loads of people sick, and I found the cause—they bought cheap, almost expired, non-grass fed meat from an unreputable farm for next to nothing and were selling it off as “local”, “grass fed” and “high quality”.
I was just about finishing off the polished, ready to print version when an alert went off on my phone.
It wasn’t the normal ding of a text or even the buzz of a phone call.
It was a notification from the dating app, Datetime.
And it was from him.
Clark.
The only guy on that app that I found remotely intriguing.
I clicked open the message quickly and stared at the screen.
And I smiled.
Clark: “I have a tiny interest in serial killers.”
Gabrielle: “Turns out I do, too.”
Clark: “I also think I meet another one of your demands. I’m 6 foot 3.”
Gabrielle: “My demands? Try standards.”
Clark: “I don’t know if I can make a good vodka pasta but I’m pretty good at braiding hair.”
Gabrielle: “What about the secluded cabin and the walks in the forest at midnight?”
Clark: “Both are my dream dates.”
Gabrielle: “So when’s our first date?”
My breath quickened as I waited for his reply, I was actually into this guy, at least until I met him. Hopefully he didn’t utterly disappoint me in person.
I pray that he isn’t one of those ‘big talkers’ through the phone, but is awkward and silent in person. That’s a major turn off.
Clark: “Tonight. 7:00 pm.”
Gabrielle: “What if I’m already busy?”
Clark: “I think you’ll find time.”
Gabrielle: “Where?”
Clark: “Salerno’s in the city. 1718 Mountain Street.”
Gabrielle: “See you then, Clark.”
Clark: “Wear something red. That’s your color.”
My heart hammered in my chest.
Wear something red?
Huh?
Then I realized the last photo on my profile was me in a red dress.
God, this guy was….demanding? Controlling? A bit scary?
Well, he checked all my boxes.
And if tonight went well then hopefully I’d see what’s beneath that interesting exterior.
Normally, I wouldn’t let a man tell me what to wear, but for him, I was willing to, just to get a rise out of him.
So, even though it was fall time in Denver and a bit cold, I dressed in a red long sleeve dress, with a low v-neck line and a push up bra for good measure, and a pair of sheer tights to keep me from actually freezing my ass off.
By the time I called my uber and bundled myself in a jacket, I was jittering with anticipation.
What if he was a catfish? God, that would be just my luck!
What if he was an actual serial killer and I took the bait? That would be just my luck, too.
What if he actually was incredible and I was into him and we ended up getting married? Now, that would go against my normally horrendous luck.
Salerno’s was perfect—old school Italian, smelled incredible just when you walked in and was candlelit.
I scanned for him when I entered but saw no sign.
Goddamn it, Gab, he is a catfish, isn’t he?
Then I felt a tall figure hover behind me and when I spun around I met his intense dark gaze.
He moved fluidly, helping me take off my jacket and handed it over to the coat check with a flick of his wrist.
Efficient.
“Gabrielle,” his voice was as smooth as silk, soft yet commanding at the same time.
His all black suit clung to his figure—it was practically made for him and all of his muscles.
“Clark,” his name rolled off my tongue effortlessly.
He smirked, showing his pristine white teeth. “Shall we go to our table?” his hand drifted to my lower back side as he touched me slightly, sending shivers through my already cold skin.
I let him guide me to our table. He pulled my chair out for me, carefully moving a strand of stray blonde hair from my backside across my shoulder.
His touch alone sent a surge through me.
He sat across from me, his posture impeccable as he rested his broad shoulders against his chair.
For a moment, his eyes scanned over me—not hungrily, but as if he was surveying me, studying me, watching me.
I shifted nervously in my chair, offering him a slight smile before glancing down at the menu.
The waiter came by, rambling off specials but I kept my eyes glued to the menu.
I could hear the assertion in his voice as he spoke. “We’ll have a bottle of pinot noir, 2 ceasar salads, a side of meatballs, and 2 vodka pastas.”
I glanced up at him in awe after the waiter walked away. “Do you always order for your dates?” I asked, playfully.
He slightly smirked, looking me over still with fascinated eyes. “When I know what they want.”
“And you think you know what I want?” I laughed.
“Yes.”
“You’re…”
He cut me off. “So, Gabrielle, tell me about yourself.”
My shoulders relaxed against my chair as I let out a breath. He’s going to think…or know I’m weird now. “Well, I’m a journalist for the Denver Times and I actually started my first day of vacation today.” I’ll ease him in.
“Any plans?” he cocked an eyebrow.
“Reading a few books. Maybe taking a hike. Whatever 2 weeks can give me.”
He looked at me as if gears were turning and he was thinking, planning, or imagining something.
But I kept going, “I obviously am a fan of true crime and podcasts. I have a favorite…”
He cut me off again, “True Killer. I saw your photo.”
“Yep,” I smiled, awkwardly.
Just in time, the wine came and thank god for that.
I nearly inhaled half the glass before I looked back up at him.
“Are you an only child? Does your family live nearby?”
Serial killers don’t make this much conversation, I told myself but his questions made me a bit wary.
“Only child and yes, they live nearby.”
They don’t live anywhere near me but he doesn’t have to know that.
“How about you, Clark?”
His gaze flickered down to my lips before meeting my eyes again slowly. “Only child. Both my parents have passed.”
“Oh, I’m sorry,” I replied as my tone softened and I set down my wine glass.
He turned his gaze downwards, to look at the table. “It was a long time ago. Car crash. Medical issues.”
“Is that why you’re a doctor?”
His eyes shot up to meet mine again—intensity pouring through his gaze. “Part of it. The medical field needed advancements and that’s why I chose to be a doctor.”
“Oh, so you helped with experimental things?” I asked curiously.
His jaw ticked. “I’ve dabbled.”
Vague, yet intriguing.
We ate in silence, and his eyes seemed to always drift towards me—attentively. As if he was examining my movements and my ticks.
I guess that’s the doctor in him.
After we finished eating and I finished my first glass of wine, I realized my lipstick was probably completely faded and I needed a moment to myself to think about how this date was going.
“If you’ll excuse me for a moment,” I replied, getting to my feet.
Clark tensed as I did, and I knew he was watching me walk towards the bathroom. And because of that I only walked slower.
I pulled out my phone and thought about sending off a quick text to Vic, telling her that the date was oddly intense and I was still deciding whether he was a serial killer, but I knew Vic would just tell me I’m delusional and to stop being a buzzkill and go get laid.
So, I decided that Vic didn’t need to know about the date or where I was, because tomorrow, I would call her and spill all the deets.
When I made my way back to the table, I saw him, across the room, staring at me as if I was the only person there.
“I’ve taken the liberty to pour you another glass of wine,” he replied as I took my seat.
He was so…assertive. He took control and initiative without even asking.
And it was sort of a turn on.
I crossed my legs from underneath the table and clenched my thighs, praying he didn’t smell my arousal.
I lifted my wine glass to my lips and took a long swig.
His eyes studied the glass, as I brought it to my lips then flickered back to my eyes, watching me sip the wine.