Page 155 of Texting Dr. Stalker

Even Colin hadn’t been able to make me laugh when I’d gone to see him a few days ago and shared the chocolate cake.

He’d asked for details of why I’d earned such a reward.

And for once, I didn’t tell him.

What happened between Sailor and me that night was no one’s business. It wasn’t just a shared release. It wasn’t the fact that I’d fallen so hard for her without even going past third base. It was the fact that I’d gone to third base all while lying to her face, and the handjob she’d given me had been the best sexual experience of my life because it washer.

She’d trusted me to be blindfolded.

Trusted me to touch her in the very same place where her ex almost murdered her.

So no, I didn’t tell him.

And yes, he’d eaten most of the cake.

And when I’d written the Post-it Note and put her plate into her letterbox at four this morning when I’d been called back into work, I’d almost convinced myself I was doing the right thing.

X had to go.

Not because I feared I’d do psychological damage to Sailor anymore—she was too strong for that—but because it was psychologically damaging me. I wanted desperately to tell her who I was, but at the same time, I would rather let her go than have her hate me for the rest of her life.

But she offered to cook for you.

As Zander.

She’d touched me and hadn’t recoiled.

I had no idea what that meant.

I didn’t know if she’d truly healed or was just putting on a brave face because I looked like I’d been mauled by a pack of wolves and left for dead.

She probably only offered out of decency. Out of neighbourly generosity. Not because she felt anything for me.

But it didn’t fucking matter, did it? Because I’d fallen asleep and not heard her knock. Now, she probably thought I didn’t appreciate her and would never offer to check in on me again.

Christ, I’m a fool.

Staggering through the house, I headed to the kitchen to rustle something up that resembled a half-healthy dinner before passing out. Taking my glasses off, I rubbed my exhausted eyes before placing them back on and…slamming to a stop.

On my countertop sat the very same plate that she’d given X full of chocolate cake. Only this time, it held a crisp salad, big pile of roasted potatoes, and three perfectly chargrilled drumsticks.

A note sat tucked beneath it.

Hi Zander,

I hope you don’t mind that I let myself in. I tried the front door but got no answer, and I figured you’d probably fallen asleep. Luckily, I know where Mary used to keep her spare key to the conservatory (I remember you painting that cute flowerpot for her). I didn’t want to wake you, and I promise I didn’t snoop. I love what you’ve done with the place, by the way. You’ll have to give me a tour so I can get ideas for my renovation. Anyway, hope the meal isn’t too cold when you wake.

Have a good rest.

Sailor.

And just like I’d reached my limit in her kitchen the other night and kissed her like a drowning man, I reached another limit standing in mine.

She was going to kill me, one kindness at a time.

And I was happy to dig out my grave if it meant I got to keep her.

Yanking my phone from my back pocket, I went to message her.

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