Total pages in book: 98
Estimated words: 91216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 91216 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 456(@200wpm)___ 365(@250wpm)___ 304(@300wpm)
No one is here. Just me. Alone.
But that is when the door opens and snow comes flurrying in, followed by a tall figure in a dark coat. My heart skips a beat as I recognize the silhouette. Jack.
He stamps his feet, shaking off the snow, and looks around the pub. Our eyes meet, and for a moment, I’m frozen. Should I wave? Pretend I didn’t see him? Before I can decide, he’s making his way over to me, a hesitant smile on his face.
“Hey,” he says, sliding onto the stool next to me. “Fancy meeting you here.”
I try to keep my voice casual, despite the butterflies in my stomach. “I uh . . . do you come here often?”
He shakes his head, signaling the bartender. “I’d like to tell you this was a coincidence,” he begins with a smile, “but I actually saw you walking in here from across the street,” Jack admits, a sheepish grin on his face. “I was on my way to ice Mr. Haven’s walkway. I hope you don’t mind me joining you.”
My heart races at his confession. He saw me and decided to follow? Part of me is thrilled, but another part is wary. After all, I barely know this man.
“No, I don’t mind,” I say, trying to sound nonchalant. “It’s nice to see a familiar face.”
Jack orders a beer and turns to face me fully. “Cheers,” he says as he raises the glass.
I clink my glass against his, the whiskey sloshing dangerously close to the rim. “Cheers,” I echo, taking another sip. The alcohol is already starting to dull the edges of my anxiety, but Jack’s presence brings a new kind of nervousness.
“So,” he says, his eyes gleaming in the dim pub light, “what brings you out on a night like this? Escaping the holiday madness?”
I laugh, but it comes out more like a nervous titter. “Something like that,” I reply vaguely. How can I explain that I’m here drowning my sorrows over a potential career-ending mistake in my secret online life? “Needed a change of scenery, I guess. What about you? Isn’t it a bit late to be shoveling snow?” I pause and decide to ask something that has been bothering me ever since I came home and saw the snow removed again. “You didn’t by chance shovel my walkway yesterday?”
Jack’s eyes widen slightly as he lowers his beer. “Ah, you caught me,” he admits with a sheepish grin. “I hope you don’t mind. I was already helping Mr. Haven and decided to do yours too.”
My heart flutters at his thoughtfulness. “That was really sweet of you,” I say, feeling a warmth that isn’t just from the whiskey. “Thank you.”
He shrugs, looking almost embarrassed. “It was nothing, really. I like helping out where I can.”
There’s a pause as we both sip our drinks, the noise of the pub swirling around us. I’m hyperaware of how close we’re sitting, our knees almost touching.
“Funny story,” I add. “When I came home yesterday and saw it done, I started to really feel I may have a stalker. A snow-shoveling stalker.”
Chapter Twelve
Jack
Trying to act cool and collected while your palms sweat isn’t easy. I wipe my hands on my jeans for the third time, hoping Chloe doesn’t notice. She’s mentioned having a stalker more than once. She’s noticed her walkway being cleaned. 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.
Am I hoping to get caught? Because I’m acting really fucking careless right now.
“A stalker to shovel your snow huh?” I say as I chase my question with my beer. “Most people would consider that a good thing.”
“I’ve been getting this feeling lately. And I heard noises . . .” she says. “Last night I freaked myself out and—” She shakes her head. “Clearly I was overreacting since you just admitted to doing my walkway.”
“You live in a safe neighborhood,” I add, “And it was windy last night. But make sure you lock up and keep your eyes open just in case.” I feel like an absolute creep. I’m the cause of her distress, and I’m trying to play it down like it’s nothing.
Then tension in her shoulders relaxes a bit, but I can still see doubt lingering in her eyes. “Yeah, you’re probably right,” she says, but her voice lacks conviction.
I need to change the subject, and fast. “So, tell me about your Christmas plans. Anything fun planned? A trip?”
She sighs, taking a sip of her whiskey and grimacing.