Page 58 of They Are Mine

Because if he isn’t perfect, I won’t waste my time.

I shove the notebook in my bag.

In a pinch, I use the app on my phone and transfer my notes later, but I love handwriting them.

It’s personal.

And they are worth it.

My workday moves quickly.

I’m very good at what I do.

Everyone here loves me.

Loves my cupcakes. Loves the little notes I leave.

No one questions if I head out early.

No one asks why I need the extra time.

They trust me.

They always do.

I don’t have to rush.

He is generally at the gym in the late afternoon.

He probably works, like me. Cuts out around three. Predictable.

But what does a man like that do?

What kind of job builds a body like his?

I bet he’s a bouncer.

Or maybe night-shift security.

That would explain why he’s at the gym before five.

Before most of us with day jobs.

Security is better.

I wouldn’t want him in a bar all the time, surrounded by drunk women, being hit on constantly.

I run my fingers down the cover of the notebook.

I’ll find out.

I park outside the gym.

Not too close. Not close enough to be noticed.

Today isn’t about him seeing me.

Not yet.

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