Chapter 2
Chapter Two
ANORA
T here were numerous reasons I was having a hard time paying attention to my blind date.
The chocolate stuck between his teeth.
His intense receding hairline.
The dangerous-looking man staring at me from across the coffee shop.
At first, I thought I was imagining things, because who in their right mind took the time out of their morning to stare at a complete stranger? It made my nerves flare at the prospect of why a man would be eyeballing me so intently.
I tried to inconspicuously run my tongue over my teeth, not feeling anything stuck between them. Did I miss a spot brushing my hair? I looked down and my boobs were most definitely still in my shirt, so what reason did he have for paying such close attention to me?
Thanks to the Portland Slasher, the crime rate had slowly but surely decreased in the city—but he couldn’t catch them all.
I did my best to ignore my anxiety and turn my attention back to the thirty-something-year-old man in front of me who wasn’t any less creepy than the stranger. Unfortunately, he wasn’t the worst blind date I had gone on in my months of trying to find a decent man.
This date further proved why I needed to swear off dating for a while and just keep my focus on my latest designs for the boutique I worked for and my smutty romance novels.
Add the scary stranger with dark eyes and a staring problem and I think I had enough bad juju to last a lifetime when it came to men.
I would love to say it was my impeccable fashion sense and smart brain that attracted the weirdos, but it was more likely the silver hair and long legs. No man ever paid attention to anything other than what they could get from a woman. Especially sex.
I was only twenty-seven, but I found myself tired of meaningless sex and wanted something serious. Something different and life-altering. I wanted a man to surprise me, and, unfortunately for me, I don’t think the date my coworker set me up on was going to cut it.
Even my best friend and roommate, Rory, who knew me better than anyone, had struck out with the guys she had attempted to introduce me to. As time slowly went on and more dates failed, I threw myself harder into work. I knew she was worried about me, wanting me to continue to put myself out there, but it became depressing to be constantly let down. Rory was also a firm believer in an active sex life—something about it being good for the soul, and mine was definitely in danger.
“Go meet a cute guy at a bar and get your freak on!” she had told me last night when I came home from work, complaining about how my feet hurt and I just wanted a glass of wine. “If you go to the bar, you get alcohol and the potential for a no-strings-attached hookup. It’s a win-win!”
Instead, I had cozied up in bed with a paperback and a glass of wine as I’d planned, staying up entirely too late, insisting I would only read one more chapter about twenty times.
Which was yet another reason I had a hard time giving the man across from me my attention.
My eyes flicked back to the stalker across the shop, deciding to give him a taste of his own medicine and catalog him as he did me.
Tattoos painted his tan skin, sporadically placed and deliciously dark. His espresso-colored hair was longer than I usually liked on a man, screaming for a good trim, though the way he styled it made me more of a fan than I cared to admit. Pieces of it fell over his brow, but even that didn’t stop the path of his stare in my direction. He pinned me with the piercing gaze of his eyes, which were just as dark as his hair, and it was hard for me to look away.
I realized too late how much of a fool I was to stare at him so openly and turned my eyes away, but not before noticing the slight uptick of his lips, proving I had been caught.
“Hello?” My date, whose name I had sadly forgotten, tilted his head, fighting for my attention.
“I’m sorry, what did you say?” I apologized, my cheeks reddening with embarrassment. When my eyes flicked back to the staring man, I could have sworn I saw a full-on, shit-eating grin gracing his lips as he sipped his coffee. As if my disaster of a date was amusing to him.
Doesn’t this guy have anything better to do?
Smug bastard. I ground my teeth and rolled my eyes as my date (Mark? Matt?) continued with whatever story he had been telling me once he thought he had my attention again.
I couldn’t even remember what it was like to actually talk to someone interesting who wasn’t Rory or one of the girls at work. Nine times out of ten, these dates were only interested in talking about themselves. They’d ramble on, barely listening to my responses. By the end of the night, I doubt they could recall a single thing about me that wasn’t already on my dating profile.
“Am I boring you?” Mark—yes, definitely Mark—asked, yanking me from my thoughts once more. His irritated tone highlighted how little I’d been listening to his endless monologue.
“No, I’m sorry,” I said, taking a sip of my lukewarm coffee. “I just didn’t sleep well last night.”
“Why don’t we have a date some other time, so you won’t be too tired to have a conversation with me?” Mark grumbled, like a toddler who hadn’t gotten his way.
How charming.
I’d only accepted this date because a coworker had set it up, too sorry to say no and hoping that just maybe something would come out of it.
When I started my endeavor of not letting anyone get close to me, I hadn’t realized quite how lonely it would be.
“Yeah, unfortunately for you there won’t be a next time. Thanks for the coffee, though,” I replied, grabbing my cup and purse before heading toward the door.
“Hey! You owe me for that latte!” Mark yelled at my back, and it took everything I had to grit my teeth and turn around to face him.
“I don’t owe you a damn thing,” I said sweetly, taking a sip of said latte and turning my back to him once more.
I risked one last glance at the attractive stranger across the coffee shop, but it was like he had vanished, which was all the more reason to get the hell out of here and to the boutique.
As I left, I made a silent promise to myself to stop accepting so many blind dates that just ended up in disaster.
If assholes and stalkers were what I had to look forward to when I broke my routine and tried to find someone to love, consider me eternally single.
Being lonely is better than being treated like scum on the bottom of someone’s shoe.
* * *
There was a chill in the air as I made my way through the front door of the café and quickly down the road. The morning drizzle had turned into a sprinkle that was looking like it would turn into a full-on downpour.
I had forgotten my umbrella by the front door of my apartment, so droplets of water ran into my eyes, obstructing my vision as it came down harder and harder. I put my hand above my eyes to attempt to see where I was going, even though I had made this walk a hundred times. I took a shortcut through an alley a block away, trying to get some kind of cover from the rain, but that wasn’t much help either.
A crash sounded from behind me, and I spun around, a chill running down my spine at the thought of being followed down a dark and rainy alley. I felt like an idiot, practically risking my life for the slim chance of evading the rain.
“Hello?” I asked, standing tall and trying to spot where the noise had come from. I pulled my keyring from my pocket and positioned my apartment key between my fingers, ready to defend myself if necessary.
I waited one breath, then two, feeling my heart racing and my hand shaking. I gasped as a stray cat jumped out from behind a trash can, only calming my nerves slightly. I would feel better once I got to work, and I would never take an alley shortcut again.
“You’re a sweetie, aren’t you?” I asked, squatting down, unable to stop myself from giving a little affection to the animal. The rain had finally relented, and a flash of color caught my eye, causing me to snap my head back up.
“That’s enough for today, little one,” I cooed, standing and hastening the rest of the way through the alley and back out onto the safety of the sidewalk, surrounded by hordes of people.
With my first step onto the pavement, my breathing evened out and the weight from my chest lifted. I had met my fair share of creeps in this city—at the bars, coming into the boutique. I’m not sure what it was about the man from the coffee shop that made me feel so on edge. There was something different, something scarier, and something infinitely more dangerous about him.
“Nora!” A singsong voice rang out when I was mere steps away from Wildflower Boutique. A woman stood before me, a takeout bag in her hand and her red hair somehow perfectly intact.
“Charlotte, you are my saving grace,” I sighed, grabbing for the bag I knew held a pastry from her mother’s bakery. She knew just how much I enjoyed them and there was one waiting for me every morning without question. “It’s unfair how perfect you always manage to look in this shitty weather.”
“You are such a little liar,” she laughed, giving me a gentle and loving shove. She unlocked the doors of the boutique and ushered me in, flipping on the lights as she went. “How was your date with Mark?” she asked with a waggle of her eyebrows.
As much as I loved my boss, the cousin that she had set me up with was another story. I had no idea what she possibly thought I would find appealing about him, though she had ranted and raved about him for weeks before I finally caved.
The man she spoke about and the man I had met were two completely different people. I should have been smarter and at least asked for a picture. Charlotte was an angel when it came to supplying me with baked goods and being one of the best bosses I’d ever worked for—helping to catapult my fashion career—but helping me find a man had turned out to be one of her weaknesses.
“Honestly? You should have warned me he was a talker,” I groaned, laying my head on the counter and hoping that was enough of an answer to drop the subject.
“I also probably could have warned you he was a complete tool if the message he sent me ten minutes ago was any indication.” She laughed as she booted up the system and got the shop ready for the day.
Charlotte was only a couple of years older than me, but she had truly made a name for herself in the fashion industry. She created and sold clothes that would likely be deemed off-the-wall, more of an alternative, cozy style, which called to me. I had shopped here for years before I finally mustered the courage to put in an application and show her my designs. We’ve bonded ever since, and it was a dream come true to see things I had worked so hard on hanging on racks and being worn and purchased by other people.
I wasn’t the type of girl who cared for high-end fashion or couture, instead loving faded band T-shirts and plaid skirts paired with combat boots or Converse. I liked my clothes darker, making my hair the lightest thing about me, drawing more attention than I would have liked.
“Cute jeans,” Charlotte said with a smile, nodding down to my favorite pair of ripped jeans that I had paired with a thin sweater, both of which were almost entirely soaked through from the rain.
“I was going for casual and trying not to scare him off with my dark and dreary clothes before he got to know me,” I said with a shrug.
My reasoning was only partly true—I didn’t want to scare him off with what some would call questionable fashion choices, but I also didn’t necessarily give a shit about dressing to impress him. I had stopped caring about what the men I went on dates with thought of me after the very first one.
Why should I take a chance on finding someone decent when all the previous men had been duds? But for some reason, it didn’t stop me from trying. Every time I left, I just ended up feeling more disappointed with the male species than I already was.
I was losing hope that someone would wow me, taking me by surprise and matching the darkness that I secretly knew shaded my heart due to past loss and trauma.
My mother had died when I was a teenager, and I’d never had the chance to know my father, not that I was complaining. If the man who was meant to love me over all others didn’t want a relationship with me, then I didn’t want one with him either.
The only people I had in my life I could depend on were my aunt, Charlotte, and Rory. Though my aunt was definitely more of a loose cannon. Ever since my mother had died, my Aunt Helen had decided to shun all technology and live in the wilderness away from civilization. She had been incredibly close to my mother, and I think losing her just broke something within her. The last time I’d spoken to her though, she seemed happier than I had heard her in a while, which was all I wanted for her.
I had to learn how to heal by myself, and I knew that I still had a way to go, even though it had been many years.
“Any man on the entire face of the planet would be lucky to have you, let alone go on a date with you, Nora,” Charlotte reasoned, and it reminded me exactly why I loved her.
* * *
The rain had only gotten worse as the day went on, washing Portland out in wave after wave of torrential downpours. It made business at the boutique unusually slow, and Charlotte left me to my own devices hours ago. I was grateful I’d brought my latest romance novel and my iPad, pulling up a slasher film to keep myself doubly entertained. It also helped ease my nerves about being all alone in the shop.
I had a deep love for horror movies; they brought me comfort. It was unusual, but once I’d seen a certain number, it was hard to be surprised and easier to know what was coming.
In my dating life, I wanted to be surprised, but when it came to everything else, I was an unfortunate creature of habit. I liked things a certain way, but a part of me was also hungry for something new. It would take a lot for me to change my habits, yet more and more I was craving change.
I often went back and forth on whether I wanted my life to change. It depended on the day, my mood, and what kind of romance books I was reading. Fictional men written by women had a tendency to make me lose hope in real-life men.
I felt bad for anyone who tried to peer inside my mind and make sense of my ping-ponging thoughts.
I dog-eared the page of my book and closed my iPad, packing up my bag and closing down the register. I made my way to the front door, shutting the lights off one by one, already having got the cleaning done earlier. After my slow shift, my bed and an order of takeout sounded exceptional. Opening up my sketchbook and trying to crack the design I’d been working on didn’t sound like a bad idea either. I’d been working on art commissions for some time and recently had begun to sell my spooky Halloween pieces on Etsy for some extra cash and awareness for my art. Fashion, art, and horror were three of my favorite things, so mixing them into one was a dream come true for my wicked little heart.
If I thought about it, and really looked deep down within myself, I knew that the dangerously beautiful man from Fog and Bean earlier made me tingle all the way to my toes, making me excited for all of my dark and depraved fantasies to potentially come true.
I wouldn’t be surprised if the apartment was empty, Rory having started to spend so much time with her new boyfriend. I had yet to meet him, but from the way she spoke about him, I felt like I knew everything about him.
I turned around, making sure nothing was amiss before walking out the front door of the shop and locking it behind me.
The streets were unusually quiet, the rain deterring everyone from spending time outdoors, and my eyes scanned the shadows, a prickly feeling sweeping through me. I had the sense that I was being watched. But when I squinted into the dark corners, there was nothing there, my vision playing tricks on me.
The honk of a car horn startled me out of my reverie. I hadn’t realized I had stepped into the street without looking, but by the time I did, I caught a glimpse of dark hair that I tried to pretend didn’t resemble that of a stranger I’d seen earlier today.
That would be crazy, right? This is what I get for watching horror movies.
A tingle coursed down my spine at the thought, and the feeling of being watched was something I had never encountered before in all my years of living in the city. I gripped the strap of my bag tightly and started shuffling down the sidewalk to my apartment building, pretending I didn’t feel eyes burning into my back as I went.
Because, after all, real darkness didn’t follow you around, keeping its eyes on your every move.
Right?