“Such a pretty girl. Lovely hair, wouldn’t you say?” she asks the space behind me, looking like she’s slipped into a memory of her own from the past.
“She’s beautiful,” I agree. No arguments from me there. “But can you tell me,” I ask, “Have you seen or heard anyone suspicious hanging around, asking about her?”
Old Mrs. Peterson screws up her face, deep in thought before she points a finger at me.
“You. Pretending to be a locksmith,” she snaps, clicking her tongue. But I laugh it off.
“I am a locksmith,” I assure her. “Among other things. I’m also worried that Phoebe might be in some kind of trouble that she won’t talk about,” I suggest.
But the old woman frowns and shakes her head. “If anyone who shouldn’t be here comes into my building, I know about,” she announces with conviction, tapping her own chest.
“Up until recently she paid her rent, went to work, and came home like clockwork. She walks her little dog and we never hear a peep out of either of them,” she tells me.
“Until recently?” I ask, and the old woman looks thoughtful. Almost concerned.
“There were a few times, now that I think about it. I think I might have heard her calling out to be left alone, but I thought it might be her television, ya know,” she says, not sounding convincing.
“I thought you just said you never heard a peep from her or her little dog, now she’s calling out telling someone to leave her alone?” I ask, not hiding the frustration in my own voice.
“We’ve never had any real trouble here, Mr. Bear. And we don’t want any either,” she almost shouts.
“I’ve given you your receipt and I hope Phoebe can make her rent on time from now on, without you or anyone else bothering her. Now goodbye,” she says with finality, pointing me to the door.
I’ve got no problem leaving the old woman alone. It’s Phoebe I’m worried about now, and walking down the hallway I finger the yellow envelope I slipped in my pocket earlier.
It’s her mail. I can’t open it.
Exhaling through my nose, I stop in the hall and take it out.
No address. No stamp. It’s a blank yellow envelope.
But it’s none of my business either. If Phoebe wants help I’m sure she’d-
Oops. Butterfingers, the Damn thing tore itself open. Just like that.
I’m no detective, but I know a threatening note when I see one. Even though this is my first time.
Yellow legal pad, blank envelope, with some neatly cut out letters from a magazine spelling just one word. Soon.
Folded twice with the word in the center of the page. Whoever did this has done it before and knows their way around stationary.
Who folds a letter to perfectly fit an envelope every time?
I don’t like it, and I can see now why Phoebe is spooked. Why she wouldn’t want to talk to anyone about it.
But I’m not just anyone.
I know what we felt between us, and I’m not gonna walk away from this or from Phoebe.
My first instinct is to go back to her, to confront her with what I’ve found out, and have her tell me everything. But I remember how worried she looked, how tired she is and how determined she is to go to her job.
To earn money to pay me back.
It makes me smile.
There’s nothing she will want for ever again if she’ll just let me look after her the way she deserves, but I know that’ll take some time for her to get used to.
How long? That’s up to her, and not too long I hope. Just the thought of her has me barring up in my pants, something I haven’t had to deal with since I was a teenager.
But more than that, it’s the thought of having her by my side. Being there for somebody 24/7. Spoiling them and starting a family of our own.
Not something I could bring up on the first day after I insist she tells me who’s behind these mysterious notes. I know it’s not the first one.
But I’ll have to be patient. All I can do now is watch over her and her baby, gather what information I can and be there when she needs me.
Hanging around by her front door or even in her building won’t work. If whoever’s leaving these notes comes back, I want to be someplace I can watch her from without being seen.
I head back down the street and notice, as luck would have it, a building opposite with a second floor office for lease.
It should give me the perfect view of Phoebe’s building and the alley that leads to the back. I’ll be able to see everyone who’s coming in or out.
I give the agent a quick call, but she won’t be able to come out until Monday, would I like to book a time?
“Sure,” I tell her, asking if it’s okay if I have a peek through the glass doors before then.
No problem.
I make my way up to the empty floor and wouldn’t you know it, the door seems to have been left unlocked.
That’ll be my story if anyone else comes snooping.
My master keys came in handy after all.
It’s not a bad office space either, considering the neighborhood, I might keep that appointment for Monday after all. Not to lease but maybe to buy. If my clients from earlier are still up for a deal, this would be the perfect addition to everything else on the table.
In the meantime, I find a decent position by the windows facing the street and Phoebe’s building and settle myself into an office chair, feet up on the window sill while I keep watch.
Not once do I ask myself what I’m doing this. If any of this is worth it.
I cancel all my other appointments while keeping one eye on her building, the other on my phone as I reschedule my previous plans.
The afternoon becomes evening, and there are more people coming than going from Phoebe’s building, but that makes sense. People coming home from work.
There’s nothing going into or coming out of the alley, but I keep my eyes peeled because I have no idea what to expect.
I’d prefer if I could see Phoebe from where I am, but I breathe a little easier after dark, seeing her lights come on.
Not soon after I spot her making her way out onto the street, which catches me unawares and I have to scramble to follow her.
What about Trixie, her baby?
I hadn’t thought about that, and it doesn’t look like she takes her little dog to work but I can’t be in two places at once.
I have to trust Trixie will be okay and follow my main reason for existing now.
Phoebe.
Who’s the stalker now, Max?
But it isn’t like that, this is different. I know there’s something between Phoebe and me. I’m just watching over her until we can have enough time alone to work on it.
With her long, golden curls and pink puffy coat, it’s not hard to spot Phoebe in the evening crowds.
It makes my job easier by blending in myself, but I can’t help notice her turning more often than not. She can sense someone’s following her.
Checking behind myself and to the sides, I figure I’m the only one tailing her for now.
At least, I hope I’m the only one.
Hard not to wonder if someone else is already watching her place too. Hard not to think about that little fur ball all alone, but first things first.
After tonight, I’ll have to tell her what I know. She needs to trust me if I’m going to help her, and part of that trust should mean knowing she doesn’t have to work a shitty job anymore either.
Too much too soon? Probably, but it’s how I roll. I have the patience of a saint.
For about twenty four hours, and then it’s gone.
I haven’t had to ride the subway in years, decades. I’m a little shocked by the experience, but at least I manage to keep up with Phoebe and follow her all the way to an industrial district, watching helplessly as she disappears behind a steel door she swipes herself through.
With no security pass of my own, and only one way in or out unless I’m a truck, I find a dark nook under a bri
dge opposite and resume my vigil.
Did she say something about a twelve hour shift?
Plenty of charge left in my phone, good.
I wonder if food delivery can find me under this bridge.
CHAPTER SEVEN
Phoebe
For someone who has to rest before work, I wonder if I’ll ever sleep a wink again.
Trixie is restless too, we both know something’s up.
I can’t get the image of Max out of my mind, how close he was to me. How good he smelled.
How strong he is.
But at the same time, I can’t help worrying about that note I’m sure I saw slipped under my door.
I could be overtired, mistaking Max’s kindness for interest in me, but another message in a yellow envelope. No way could I have imagined that.
Try as I might, I can’t sleep, dreading the hours as I watch them pass, glancing at the clock as I tell myself how much I need sleep.
Getting up and checking I did lock the door a half dozen times, I can’t help feeling like there are still eyes on me. On both of us.
I wonder if the creep who’s been leaving notes has actually started watching the apartment or maybe been watching us all along.
The thought does nothing to help me get any rest, but I must doze off eventually because just as I feel a deep sleep coming over me the alarm goes off and I curse loudly.
Time to get up and do it all over again.
Fuck.
The prospect of twelve hours at the box factory is enough to make me cry.
Giving myself five more minutes, I oversleep the second alarm, starting awake in a panic.
Running late now to top everything off.
The perfect beginning to the perfect day.
I usually walk Trixie before and after work, but she’ll have to make do with some doggie pads for now. If I don’t get dressed and leave right now, I’ll be late and won’t have a job at all.
I hate leaving her alone, but right now I don’t have a choice. She whines and shivers watching me get ready and it breaks my heart every time I have to go.
“I promise I’ll be back soon baby girl,” I tell her, feeling like the worst doggy mom in the whole world as I dish her out some food and make sure she has plenty of water for the time ahead.
Growling as I pull the door shut after I make sure I have my keys and phone beforehand, I hustle as best I can to make the subway on time.
The whole way there though, I feel it again. Those eyes on me, like I’m being followed.
I turn and look a hundred times, but without knowing who or what I’m actually looking for, I have no idea if it’s real or if I’m just losing my mind.
Wishing Max was here, wishing I was kinder to him instead of bundling him out of the house like I did.
He’s so sweet, only trying to help.
Why?
Because he likes you is why stop trying to pretend there was nothing between you earlier today. You felt it and I know he did too.
I saw the effect it had on him. No imagining that either.
If it wasn’t for Trixie and now Max, I’d have nothing to look forward to. Nothing to get me through the next twelve hours of mind-numbing toil for not much money.
The thought of both of them is enough to cheer me up enough, even to get through the subway ride and then past the foreman ribbing me for almost being late.
It’s not hard work, and I guess I should be grateful to have a job at all. But the hours are long and the work repetitive, making it easy to zone out and think of other things.
Other places, other people. Maybe even a life away from all this work which is just a giant interruption.
Max seems pretty happy doing what he does though. A locksmith though, something tells me he’s a little more than that.
He seems so relaxed, in control. Not checking the clock and worrying about the little things.
He’s the first person I’ve ever met who seems to have solutions instead of problems.
I daydream about what I really want for an hour or so until reality kicks in. By the time my first short break rolls around, I’ve almost talked myself out of everything. Funny how hours at a box press will do that.
Now I have to come up with extra money to pay Max back, as well as keep my crummy little existence going.
As if a guy like that, old enough to me my father probably. As if he’d magically sweep me off my feet and make me the center of his whole world.
It’s a pleasant fantasy though, and one I tell myself I’ll file away for use when it feels like I can’t take it anymore.
But there’s something still stirring inside me. Like butterflies that won’t stop.
The good kind too.
I guess I’ll just have to wait and see what develops between me and Max. I figure at the worst, I’ve made a new friend.
Now for a soda and what looks like a day old sandwich from the so-called cafeteria sees me through until my next break.
Much like sleeping only when I have to wake up, I only really get my second wind at work when it’s finally time to go home.
I punch out, somehow wishing it would be for the last time ever before I make my way out the exit with everyone else.
It’s not the kind of job where people make friends or hang around for small talk.
You do your shift and then you go home, trying to forget about it for a few hours.
Passing under the bridge on the way through to the subway platform, I swear I catch a scent in the air.
A delicious scent.
The same cologne Max wore, mixed with hot coffee and something toasted.
Something nice.
“Good Morning,” I hear a deep, cheerful voice resonate from behind me.
I freeze on the spot, hoping it is him. Hoping all of this has been real and not my overactive imagination.
I turn slowly and notice the man himself. It’s Maxwell.
He’s holding a cardboard tray with two coffees and also a slightly grease-soaked paper sack.
The man is a wizard, not only does he know where I work, he’s brought us both an unhealthy breakfast, and I’m famished.
“I hope you don’t mind me meeting you at work,” he says, stepping closer.
I notice his five o’clock shadow.
A five a.m. o’clock shadow, which puzzles me.
He still looks and smells great, just looks… tired.
If I didn’t know better, I’d say he’s been waiting for me all night under this bridge.
Has he?
He gives a little shrug and I feel myself wanting to get angry. To yell at him for following me.
Now it all makes sense.
But instead of feeling upset, I feel safer than ever.
I feel like somebody actually cares about me for the first time in my life, and truth be told I’m not sure what to make of it.
I open my mouth to say something. To confront him about following me, to tell him how worried I’ve been.
But if I tell him that, I have to tell him everything.
“We need to talk,” he says seriously, handing me a hot coffee and motioning in front of us with his huge arm.
The box factory isn’t far from a pier and in a few moments, we’re away from the work crowd, weaving our way between pillars and over the weathered boards of a dock.
For people that need to talk, we walk in silence for a long time until we both quietly settle on a bench overlooking the sea and the morning sun as it starts to rise.
Handing me a toasted bacon and cheese bagel that’s as big as his hand, he goes first.
“I won’t lie to you Phoebe, I followed you from your apartment. I had to. I forgot to give you this,” he says, taking a familiar yellow envelop from his breast pocket.
He’s watching for my reaction and my face must say it all.
I feel myself wince as soon as I see it.
I feel ashamed, scared but also relieved.
Of all the people in the world, I’d only
ever chosen to trust Max with this terrible secret.
“So you know,” I hear myself saying, suddenly not hungry but sipping the coffee and using it to keep my hands warm once I set the bagel down.
A chill’s come over me, making me feel hollow. Fragile.
Max’s arm is around me and he pulls me close to him as I start to cry.
“It’s gonna be okay Phoebe, I promise you. Everything’s gonna be fine from now on.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Maxwell
I’ve had all night to think things through, and I’ve decided I won’t hide anything from Phoebe. Including my feelings. Not now, not ever.
Sure we just met, but if I failed to act on my instincts I wouldn’t be where I am today.
I see opportunities and I take hold of them.
Phoebe Gold is the best thing to happen in my life so far, and I’m not gonna let her slip away. Not for any reason.
Whatever trouble she’s in, we can work it out. And this whole apartment, going to work thing? I’d prefer it if that could end today.
I’m not as young as I used to be and staying up all night makes me feel every one of my forty years. But it all disappears as soon as I see her face. As soon as I get close to her.
We can take things as fast or as slow as she wants, but she needs to know I’m here for her and she needs to know how I feel about her. Feelings that include me not wanting to see her in that crummy apartment or this even crummier job.
I’ve ordered us both breakfast and we walk for a time before settling at the pier, where I show her the note.
She’s upset, but not with me. I think she’s relieved more than anything that she can share whatever it is that’s troubling her with someone else.
Putting my arm around her, I pull her closer to me, promising her everything’s gonna be alright. But I need to know more.
“How many notes like this have you received?” I ask her, grimacing when she shrugs, telling me she can’t remember.
“Look, I’d rather not talk about it if that’s okay with you, Max. It’s just some weirdo sending notes and nuisance calls. What can I do?”
“He’s calling you too?” I hear myself ask, my voice rising in anger.
“I don’t know who it is, Max,” she says, pleading with her eyes for me to change the subject, leaning closer into me.
Goldie Locks: A Steamy Standalone Instalove Romance Page 4
