Page 53 of Ruin Me Gently

Still, as I leaned behind the counter, absentmindedly twirling a pen between my fingers, I found myself doing the one thing I absolutely shouldn’t be doing. Scrolling. Again.

There weren’t many messages, which only made it more ridiculous that I’d reread them at least six times.

Mr Stalker

Goodnight, Lilith.

And then nothing. Not a single text since last night. No follow up. No cryptic‘I see you.’

Good. Great, even.

I wasn’t going to text him first. Not a chance. I wasn’t an enabler. Sure, I might have given him my number in the first place, but that was out of curiosity, which wasn’t the same as encouraging him.

And yet, as I locked my phone and shoved it back into my pocket, a nagging thought pressed in at the edges of my mind. Ishouldhave felt uneasy. This was a stalker. A man who had evidently been watching me for weeks. Who obviously knew my routine, who’d figured out where I lived, who had left carefully thought-out gifts at my doorstep without a single trace of how he’d comeand gone.

I should’ve been on high alert. I should’ve already ordered a full security system, bought myself a real gun—something to keep myself safe.

But I hadn’t. And that was more disturbing than anything else.

I twisted my fingers around the locket at my throat, the cool silver grounding me as I focused on my breathing.

A soft thump landed beside me.

I blinked, turning to find Molly resting her chin in her palm, watching me with an arched brow. “Oh, so youarealive in there,” she said dryly. “What’s up? Existential crisis or just your regular brand of internal monologue bullshit?”

I sighed, straightening up and grabbing a book so I at leastlookedlike I was working. “I’m fine.”

She squinted at me. “Yeah. That sounds believable.”

“You’re exhausting.”

“Yes. I’m aware. But you’re brooding like a tortured poet over here,” she tilted her head, eyes flicking over me. “Oh God, you haven’t been writing poetry again, have you?”

I smacked the book lightly against her arm. “No, I have not been writing poetry again.”

“Good,” she muttered, rubbing her arm with an exaggerated groan. “Because the last time you tried, it was—”

The chime of the shop bell rang out, interrupting whatever she was about to say.

“Lilith Whitlock?” A voice called out.

We turned at the same time, and my eyes landed on the delivery guy standing by the doorway, shifting the weight of a drink carrier and a brown paper bag between his hands. He looked about two steps away from quitting his job on the spot.

“Yeah, that’s me,” I said cautiously as I approached him. “But I haven’t ordered anything.”

He glanced around the store, squinting. “There any other Lilith Whitlocks here?”

“Nope. Just the one.”

He gave a long-suffering sigh. “Listen, I’ve got five more stops and a migraine forming. It’s been paid for, take it for what it is. It’s not rocket science.”

Hesitation knocked my limbs as I glanced down at the goods.

I didn’t know what was going on, but this poor guy looked about three seconds away from exploding right there all over the stacks.

“Fine,” I sighed, taking the bag and drinks.

“Enjoy your free meal,” he mumbled as he turned on his heel and stomped toward the door.

---