Page 22 of Stalker

I paused, looking around the space, “I am.” I finished walking to the counter. “How did you know?”

She chuckled and grabbed a wrapped box from a shelf and set it on the counter. “There isn’t a single name in this town I don’t know.” She patted the top of the matte red gift box, “Nor do I get packages hand delivered for newcomers either. Secret admirer?”

I ignored her question and asked my own. “Do you know who dropped it off?”

“I’ve never seen him before in my life.” She cocked one eyebrow at me, “Two new people in one day.” The woman smiled, “Enjoy yourself young lady, because he sure could do damage to a woman’s sensibilities.”

“Was he—” I paused, unsure how much information I wanted to berate from the old woman, but she picked up on my direction and chuckled, slowly walking back over to her desk and sitting down gingerly.

“If I was twenty years younger, I would have ridden that man right there on the counter for the whole church choir to see on their way in for practice across the street.”

I snorted and waited for her to make a joke out of her over the top statement, but she just stared back at me.

“You’re serious?”

She deadpanned, “The man belongs in People Magazine’s Sexiest Man Alive contest.”

“Interesting.” I picked up the box, surprised by the weight of it, and stepped back toward the door, pausing briefly before I opened it. “Hey, if I go missing in the future, tell the police to start with him, would ya?”

She grinned, “Got it. Enjoy the ride.” She winked and went back to reading some trashy tabloid magazine, dismissing me.

The entire way back through the winding hills and twisting roads to Hartington Estate, I eyed the red box on my passenger seat.

Dane told me not to open it until I was free after work, but every bit of me wanted to break his rule, then I remembered what he said.

Call me Dane. Sirs are weak, they give commands expecting them to be fulfilled. I’ll make you do what I want.

I was pretty sure I didn’t want to find out what happened if I disobeyed. So I made myself wait and be a good little girl for him.

My phone rang, distracting me, and my sister’s name popped up on the screen, so I approved it.

“Why are you avoiding me?” She asked in place of hello and I smiled to myself at her antics.

“We talked yesterday.” I reminded her.

“But I’ve sent you three texts, four reels, and I even resorted to sending you a message on TikTok.” She shuddered like it all was exasperating.

“You’re so dramatic.”

“Where were you?” She kept on.

“Working, Olivia!” I cried, “You know this job that I took so I could—”

“Find yourself,” She cut me off, “Yeah, yeah, yeah, we all know you’re on a soul-searching journey through manual labor for some rich old man. But that doesn’t make you a slave. Can’t you answer a text once every few hours?”

Flashbacks of the message I dared to answer and the shit show that erupted in consequence assaulted me. “No. There are no phones allowed while I’m working.” I lied.

“Rude.” She sighed, “It’s 2021, everyone has a phone.”

“I know.” I replied, suddenly tired. “What’s up?”

“Can’t I just call you to chat?” She stammered.

I rolled my eyes so far I saw my brain. “You just chased me down like a madwoman for a chat? Olivia!”

There was a long pause and then a sigh. “I miss you, P.”

“Livy,” I sighed, slowing life down around me to take my sister’s words to heart. “I miss you too. Life has been weird lately even before I moved, I know. I’m sorry.”

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