Page 15 of Deja Brew

The paintings were truly gorgeous. Would have spent ages looking through them if they weren’tallof me. They were respectful, nothing objectifying me or hinting at something unpleasant.

Can’t pinpoint why I’m upset. Do I even have a right to be upset when I liked his presence following me?

I sift flour into melted butter. Does it really matter to me? He was concerned enough to follow me to work. I analyse all angles and come to the conclusion that it doesn’t bother me. It’s hypocritical of me to say it does, considering everything I told Ella. If it bothered me, I should have called the police.

The paintings, however, I need more time to process. I think my distress comes from the shock of his art, not from finding out it was him following me. I fold the ingredients together and grease a baking tin.

It’s not that I found the paintings offensive, or vulgar…but it’s confronting walking into a room to see it full of images of yourself. Perhaps if there was warning, I wouldn’t have been caught off guard.

But would I have stayed?

Maybe. If he’d said he liked painting me. But finding out about the stalking and the art at the same time was a lot.

I shove the baking tin in the oven.

Should I talk to him? Yes. Communication is good. Communication about why he has a room full of paintings of me, instead of talking to me, is good.

My mind ignores the fact I locked us in a room to ask him out instead of asking like a normal person. Maybe we’re both unhinged. Or I’m delusional and should call the police.

I stare at the brownie in the oven. No. I won’t call the police. I’ll talk to him tomorrow when he comes in and ask questions as a calm adult instead of yelling at him.

I’m apprehensive walking to work in the morning, the wind bites through my coat, and my eyes scan the street as I stride down the footpath. He’s following me. I can feel him. Even after yesterday, he’s making sure I get to work. Something inside me warms at the thought of him protecting me, after I shouted and freaked out at his flat. Didn’t consider he’d be with me this morning, but he is, after everything. It shouldn’t make me as happy as it does.

But I’m used to the presence that follows me. If it was missing, I don’t know what I’d do.

I can’t see him and I’m not ready to talk to him yet, so I walk to my storefront door, unlock it, close and lock it behindme, and finally see him across the street. Can’t believe I didn’t recognise him before, it’s so obvious now. He’s leaning against a brick wall, hands tucked deep inside his coat pockets, and he doesn’t look at me. Just puts his head down and stares at his feet.

I chew the inside of my cheek. Why does my stomach churn when he doesn’t look at me? I watch at the door for long minutes. He continues to stare at the ground and doesn’t glance up once, just shivers in the cold.

I should invite him in. Give him a warm drink and talk to him, but I need more time to organise my thoughts. Need people around us when I talk to him for the first time after last night.

Later today, when he makes the delivery, I’ll talk to him.

Spinning from Leo, I stalk to the kitchen and yank off my coat to prepare for the day.

Gemma arrives, then the rest of the staff, and we open and serve customers while I wait for Leo to show up. He’s not early, like the last few deliveries, and then he doesn’t arrive at the scheduled time.

Midday comes and goes, and I glare at the clock. He’s ruined my plan.

It wasn’t much of a plan, but it’s all I’ve got. All I wanted was to talk to him on neutral ground and see his reaction. Although, I supposed my café isn’t really neutral.

Not sure I’m ready to go back to his flat, but that doesn’t mean I want to cut him out of my life completely. The more I think about it, the more I don’t care about any of it.

Weirdly, the art continues to freak me out more than the stalking, but I think if he showed it to me and explained his thought process, I’d move past it quickly. I’m already used to the person stalking me, had begun to expect the feeling and look forhim, but the art caught me off guard. To see myself decorating the walls and painted so carefully, the detail to everything…

Gem interrupts my spiralling. “Delivery’s here.” She’s frowning at the door and goes to speak, but I’m already rushing to the backdoor.

He’s bent over setting a box on the floor, and my heart drops when I notice his hair. It’s blond. My brow creases.

The man stands and says, “You must be the owner. I’m Ben.”

“Hello.” I clear my throat from the thick disappointment clogging it. “Where’s Leo?”

He was here this morning. I know he was. Where is he? Assumed since he followed me like normal he’d work as normal. Why avoid me now but continue to follow me in the dark? Maybe he doesn’t want to talk to me. I shake my head. It doesn’t matter. I’ll find a way to talk to him later.

“Called in sick. I nearly keeled over when I heard. He doesn’t take sick days. Especially not when he’s scheduled here.” Ben winks at me and rubs his hands together. “That’s everything. I’ll see you later.”

“Leo isn’t coming back?” I ask. My hands turn damp. “I hope he’s okay.”

---