He Sees You When You're Sleeping

by Alta Hensley

Not 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.

“But if he didn’t, then who did?” I ask, handing Mr. Haven his tea. Mr. Haven chuckles, cradling the mug between his gnarled hands. “Maybe Santa’s elves. Or you have yourself a helpful stalker.”

How many nights have I done this now? Lurking, watching, waiting. 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. And the last thing I need is my boot prints leading a trail to right outside her window.

The second reason is it gives me comfort. It reminds me of when I was a kid, when my mother was still alive and we were a small family. I would shovel walkways to earn extra cash so I could buy my mom chocolate-covered cherries and a perfume called Charlie Blue at the neighborhood drugstore. The third reason is . . . well . . . I don’t want Chloe to slip.

I’m single, have no kids or family needs, have no real life to speak of, and frankly, I love my job. Other than watching Chloe, I have little else on my plate. Pathetic yes, but the facts.

The single strand of Christmas lights is about to turn on, like they are every night when I leave. And like always, 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.

“This piece, for example, can be worn as a simple pendant or,” she deftly manipulates the chain, “converted into a lariat style for a more dramatic look.”

Need to look up

It’s a blend of BDSM club and Victorian elegance that speaks to my soul in a way Moth to the Flame’s more mainstream pieces never quite manage. Her jewelry feeds the alter ego inside of me. It fuels the “Chlo” as I like to call her.

As we move to the makeshift studio, I start to shed my professional persona. I change into my favorite little black dress, fishnets, and sexy black pumps. Gone is the polished influencer in her secondhand blazer and knock-off heels. In her place emerges Chlo—edgy, daring, and unapologetically herself.

As I lower my phone, a chill runs through me that has nothing to do with the cold. Who has been shoveling my walkway all this time? And why?

She doesn’t know I’m here. She never does. But I am. I always am. I take my place behind her, close enough to catch a whiff of her jasmine perfume. My palms are sweaty, and I wipe them on my pants, rehearsing the words I’ve practiced a hundred times in my head.

“Well, Jack the firefighter,” she says, her tone playful, “since we’re both here and you’re trying new things, why don’t you join me? I was just about to sit down and go over some work, but I could use a break.” My heart leaps into my throat. This is the moment I’ve been waiting for, dreaming about for . . . years?

As I continue the story, I watch Chloe’s reactions closely. She gasps at the tense moments, laughs at the absurd details, and nods sympathetically when I describe the homeowner’s distress. It’s intoxicating, having her full attention like this.

We fall into an easy conversation, swapping stories about our jobs and lives. I’m careful not to reveal too much, to only share what a casual acquaintance might reveal. But it’s hard when I want to tell her everything, when I want her to know me as well as I know her.

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.

Tyler simply don’t do it for me. Too nice. Too straitlaced. I’m not exactly looking for the bad boy. In fact, I don’t want that either. But I do want someone who can challenge me, someone with a bit of an edge. Someone who doesn’t follow all the rules. Someone who has the same sexual interests as me.

My breath fogs the window, and I wipe it away impatiently. Can’t let anything obstruct my view. My fingers leave smudges on the glass, and I realize with a start that I’ve forgotten my gloves. Sloppy. I can’t afford to be sloppy.

My heart races as she sets up the stool beneath the smoke detector. Is she going to change the battery? That’s my job. I should be the one up there, keeping her safe.

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.

need to fix this. I need to keep her safe. An idea forms in my mind. It’s risky, but I can’t bear the thought of leaving her unprotected. I’ll come back tomorrow, in my firefighter uniform.

She broke the firefighter code. Never. Disable. An. Alarm. Thinking of punishing her again for her naughty acts has my cock twitching in my pants. I force those thoughts away, disgusted with myself. I’m here to protect her, not . . . not have an inconvenient boner.

What have I done? What will I do next? The line between protector and predator has never felt so blurry.

Walking the streets of downtown Manhattan, near the water, in the winter, next to a fireman, and on our way to get hot chocolate. What could get more Christmas than that?

“If you ever need help or someone to be nearby . . . No pressure, of course.” “Thank you,” I manage to say. I shrug. “No big deal really. I just have a stalker.” Jack’s eyes widen, his expression turning serious. I immediately regret my flippant comment. “No, no, it’s not like that. I was joking. No stalker for me.” Jack’s face relaxes slightly, but

God, if only I could tell him my darkest and most desired secret. What if I told him that nothing would turn me on more than having him knock our hot chocolates to the floor with one swoop of his arm and throw me across the table instead? He’d tear of my clothes and fuck me without a second thought to the people around us. Nothing could get in the way of his hunger for me and—

Holy fucking hell . . . My heart nearly stops. I can’t believe what I’m seeing. Chloe, my sweet, innocent Chloe, is logging into a Dark Secrets account. I have a Dark Secrets account. But Chloe? My sweet, angel Chloe?

Holy shit this escalated quickly! Is this what some melted chocolate does to a girl? This is too much. I need to leave, to process what I’ve seen. But my feet feel rooted to the ground, my eyes locked on the window. I’ve watched Chloe for years, thinking I knew everything about her. Now, I realize I know nothing at all.

I took the girl out for hot cocoa like she was a virginal eighteen-year-old. Jesus she must think I’m a goddamn Boy Scout. Had I known . . . She leans back further so I can get a better view of exactly where she plans to put that dildo. My legs go weak, and I have to grip the hedge to stay upright. I thought I was protecting her, keeping her safe from the darkness of the world. But she was already deep in it, reveling in it even.

As she nears her climax, Chloe locks eyes with the window. For a heart-stopping moment, I feel like she’s looking right at me. Like she knows I’m here, watching her most intimate moment. It’s as if she knows she should have pulled the curtains shut to give herself privacy, but she never does. Never. It tells me one thing. She likes to leave them open . . . tempting the universe. Inviting . . .

She likes toys. I like toys. She likes kink . . . so much kink. I fucking adore kink.

I open the app, my finger hovering over the message icon. But something catches my eye in the notifications tab. A new follower. I tap on it, curiosity overriding my lingering fear. The username makes my blood run cold: WinterWatcher. It can’t be. It’s a coincidence, right? But as I click on the profile, the bio reads: “I like to watch from afar. Always from afar.”

now my thoughts return to Jack. Jack is nice. Is he too nice? I shake my head, trying to clear my muddled thoughts. Jack is different. There’s an undercurrent of intensity beneath his polite exterior that I can’t quite put my finger on. But Tyler . . . Tyler’s niceness always feels forced, like he is trying too hard to be the perfect gentleman.

WinterWatcher has been active. He’s left comments on my older posts now, innocuous things like “Beautiful” and “Stunning.” But there’s one comment that makes my heart stop: “I wonder what other dark secrets you have.” Something inside of me wants to respond. But I never speak to any subscribers. I never interact. I never comment. I’m not going to start now . . .

And me entering the same bar she entered was pushing things too far. And after watching her last night . . . everything has changed. Everything. I saw her videos. I can see what she’s favorited. I can see everything and all her hidden kinks. And fuck me . . . they are the same as mine. If Dark Secrets were a dating app, we’d be a match. But I’m fucking up. I’m getting too close.

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.

Chloe smiles, and a wave of relief washes over me. “I mean, we’ve shared hot chocolate together now. That means something.” She giggles. “But yeah, something about you has always felt . . . familiar. You don’t feel like a stranger. At least not anymore.” She leans in, her eyes searching mine. “There’s something about you, Jack. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but . . . I feel like I can trust you. Is that crazy?”

Jack’s eyes twinkle with mischief. “Nah, that was all you. But I’ll take credit for the save.” He takes hold of my hand. “But I will keep a hold of this. Just in case.” “Just in case,” I parrot as our fingers lace together.

But then Jack gives my hand a gentle squeeze, his eyes encouraging. And something in me softens. Maybe it’s the magical lights, or the infectious joy of the carolers, or just Jack’s unwavering enthusiasm. Whatever it is, I find myself opening my mouth and joining in, quietly at first, then with growing confidence.

As we finish “We Wish You a Merry Christmas,” Jack leans in close, his breath warm against my ear. “See? I knew you had it in you, Cindy Lou.” I elbow him playfully. “Don’t get cocky, Fireman Jack. This doesn’t mean I’m going to start watching Hallmark movies or anything.” “Baby steps.” He gives me a toothy grin. “But I’d say this is definitely progress.”

“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.”

I wonder if I’ve said too much, revealed too much of my true self. But then I remember the look in Jack’s eyes, the hint of something deeper, darker. Maybe, just maybe, there’s more to Jack than meets the eye. And maybe, just maybe, I’m ready to find out.

“Hey, don’t go there. You’re talented, Chloe. Your work at Moth to the Flame is important. And if this . . . other thing . . . helps you express yourself, then more power to you. Just be careful, okay?”

How close is too close? There’s no such thing as too close, he replies almost instantly. Not when you truly want to know someone. I swallow hard, my mouth suddenly dry. And how would you go about getting that close? Carefully. Patiently. Building trust, piece by piece. Learning every detail, every habit. Watching. Studying. Becoming a part of their world, even if they don’t realize it at first.

What do you think I want? I type. There’s a pause before his response comes through. 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.

Even though the camera isn’t on, I get this feeling as if he’s somehow watching.

Well yes

Yup, I’m going to hell on a sleigh ride. I’m double-fisting my ticket to hell.

My cheeks flush at the mention of Jack. “Sloane! No way. I barely know him. Besides, I don’t think he’s the type for that kind of scene.” Sloane shrugs, a sly smile playing on her lips. “You never know. Sometimes the quiet ones are the wildest behind closed doors.”

Jack offers her light. WinterWatcher offers her dark. The question is, who is the real me?

He reaches up, gently tracing the edge of my jaw with his thumb. “Is it time for me to unwrap you?” His voice is extremely deep . . . too deep as if he’s doing it to disguise his voice. But I don’t care. He came! It’s him! The realization hits me like a tidal wave, and I smile as I turn around to face him. “You came,” I breathe, my voice barely audible over the music. “I wondered if you would.”