Total pages in book: 93
Estimated words: 88152 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 88152 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 441(@200wpm)___ 353(@250wpm)___ 294(@300wpm)
To think, I would normally mutter a few choice words at the sight of a parking ticket, but right now, it’s like a gift. I tuck it into the glove box before starting off, shaking my head at how quick I was to jump to conclusions.
By the time I reach the high-rise, though, I have to remind myself that just because this incident turned out to be nothing doesn’t mean I have nothing to worry about. Obviously, even living with Christian isn’t enough to eradicate the fear that seems to have made itself part of my DNA. I wonder if that’s possible—I’ve read studies and articles related to it in the past, more as a matter of curiosity than anything else. Is it possible for fear to make itself part of our very genetic material? Some researchers believe it is, citing multigenerational trauma that trickles down through the decades. Survivors of catastrophes, tragedies, and the effects on their grandchildren and beyond.
Did my parents’ deaths set me up for this? Has this stalker left me unable to ever live without looking over my shoulder again?
I’m so upset by the time I reach the apartment that I’m barely able to fight back my tears. I have to do my best, though. I don’t want Christian to worry.
“I’m home.” I try to inject as much positivity into my voice as possible, even as I practically slump against the locked door once I’ve made sure it’s secure. I’m safe now. Nobody can get to me here.
And when Christian comes to greet me, looking like a million bucks even in casual clothes, I do my best to put on a happy face. He deserves that. He deserves the best I can give him after everything he’s given me.
But it isn’t always possible to turn these things on and off at will, is it? As usual, he sees through me.
His smile hardens into more of a grimace before he takes my face in his hands. “What happened? What’s wrong?” he murmurs, his calloused thumbs stroking my cheeks.
“Nothing. At least I don’t think it was anything.” I wish my voice wasn’t shaking so much. I wish I could be stronger. “I felt like somebody was following me again. And there was a parking ticket on my car, but I thought it was from him.” Now that I’m saying it out loud, I’m almost ashamed of how quickly I jumped to conclusions.
He continues stroking my cheeks, concern stamped across his features. “Did you have the Mace I gave you? What about the knife?”
“Of course. I never leave home without them.” They’re still in my jacket pockets, in fact. “I’m not used to having them, so it didn’t occur to me to pull either of them out. I’m glad I didn’t, or else I might have attacked an innocent person.” Or macing myself, which would’ve made for a great story.
He leans in, brushing his lips against my forehead, a gesture that goes a long way toward soothing me. “You’re safe. No one’s going to hurt you.”
“I know. Or I’m trying to know. I really am.” I pull my head back to look him in the eye because it’s important to me he understands this. “I don’t want you to think all this effort you’re putting into making me feel better is a waste. I promise it isn’t. But when the police flat-out act like you’re wasting their time when you’re terrified, and you feel like even if something happened and you tried to get help, nobody would pay attention…”
He wraps his strong arms around me, letting me bury my face in his chest and inhale the familiar, comforting scent of his cologne. “You’re safe. You have nothing to fear. And now, you’re home. And I hope you don’t mind, but I made dinner arrangements.”
“Dinner arrangements?” I shouldn’t be so surprised, but I’m normally the one who arranges these things. I like doing it since he’s taking such good care of me, after all. It’s the least I can do for him.
He takes me by the hand, leading me to the dining table. Sure, it’s takeout—the containers are on the kitchen counter—but he took the time to plate everything up and even added candles to the table. “Aw, this is so nice.” It must be the raging emotions I’ve run through tonight, but now I want to cry all over again. For a different reason, of course.
He cups my chin in one hand, just about knocking the air from my lungs when he smiles brilliantly. “Didn’t I tell you everything would be okay? I’ll always take care of you. And tonight, it seemed only fitting that we have an unofficial first date. After all, we sort of skipped that part, didn’t we?”
I might laugh at the truth of that, but inside, I’m melting. He always knows just the right thing to do. Right now, any fears of a stalker might as well be a million miles away. We are on top of the world together and about to have a candlelit dinner.