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Fa la la fucking la.
only has he been shoveling my walkway after every storm, but he also hung the Christmas lights outside my window. Granted, it was a single and simple strand of lights on my tall shrub, but I appreciated the effort.
Mr. Haven chuckles, cradling the mug between his gnarled hands. “Maybe Santa’s elves. Or you have yourself a helpful stalker.”
It’s become an addiction I can’t control.
Over the past few years, I’ve been shoveling Chloe’s walkway after a snowstorm for three reasons.
The first is because snow means footsteps. Footsteps mean evidence.
The second reason is it gives me comfort.
The third reason is . . . well . . . I don’t want Chloe to slip.
Even though I’d consider myself a pro at this stalking game, I’m never truly at ease.
Because of my nightly visits, I know more about jewelry than any man in my profession should know.
I promise myself that this will be the last time I come around to watch her from afar. But deep down inside, I know that’s a lie. Chloe Hallman is my drug.
She doesn’t know I’m here. She never does. But I am. I always am.
She watches people—like me. Although she doesn’t stand outside someone’s windows in the dark—like me.
But mostly, it’s just about being there for people when they need help.”
Maybe we’ll run into each other here again sometime?”
But as I start walking to work, I can’t shake the image of Chloe’s smile, the sound of her laugh. I tell myself this is the last time, that I’ll stop coming to the cafe, stop following her. Okay . . . I’m a liar. I miss her already.
“I’ve always found that the most interesting people are the ones with the most interesting bookshelves.”
Ewww stop. He’s going to ruin this book for me.
“I’ll get too nervous knowing someone is watching.”
Is she going to change the battery? That’s my job.
I want to burst through that window and explain the dangers, lecture her on fire safety, spank her naughty and perfect ass, and then beg her to let me fix it properly.
What have I done? What will I do next? The line between protector and predator has never felt so blurry.
“It’s hard, isn’t it? Trying to celebrate when the people who made it special are gone.”
“Yeah, it is. Sometimes I think about trying to recreate those old traditions, but it feels . . . empty.”
I know, I want to say. I want to admit that I was the one working the scene that night. That I was the firefighter who pulled her parents’ bodies from the wreckage. That I held her shaking hand as I got her into the ambulance. That I went to the hospital after my shift to check on her and have watched over ever since.
If only she knew how close we really are.
“Wanna know a secret? I happen to like dark,” he says, his eyes connecting with mine. Jesus. I swallow hard, trying to ignore the sudden spark of electricity between us. “Dark, huh? Be careful what you wish for, Jack.” He holds my gaze, his expression turning serious. “I’m not afraid of the dark. Or of you.”
You want a man who doesn’t ask. He just does. You want a man who takes control, who knows what you need before you even realize it yourself. I see a woman who craves intensity. Who wants to be pushed to her limits, to experience everything life has to offer. But I also see someone who’s afraid. Afraid of losing control, of being truly vulnerable.
Yup, I’m going to hell on a sleigh ride. I’m double-fisting my ticket to hell.
Come on, buddy. Throw me against the wall. Take me by the hair and plunge your tongue into my mouth. Do it! Do it! Nothing.
I’ll be wearing a red ribbon around my neck tied in a bow. I’ll also be in a green, silky dress. Come and unwrap me.
Fucking Chloe in this room with everyone watching on the other side of the thin glass is most definitely a fantasy of mine,
It’s like honey, sweet and intoxicating. I can’t get enough.
I’m fucked up. But not that fucked up.
A kink love triangle for the holidays? Yes,
“I’ve seen your videos, Chloe. I know what you like, what you crave. And I want to give it all to you.”
To Jack. Thank you for watching over me this Christmas. Love, Scrooge.
“I think I’m falling for you,”
“I’m already fallen,”
I laugh bitterly. Stay indoors. If only I had done that in the first place, none of this would have happened.
What am I doing? This is insane. I’m stalking my stalker.
He’s a stalker, a predator. I should be calling the police, not fantasizing about him in my bedroom.
My sweet fireman. My WinterWatcher. My stalker. My man—the one man who is willing to give me every fantasy and every dark secret I desire.
My stalker. My watcher. Now my lover.
