Page 55 of We Can Stay
At least I fixed this one thing. At least she’ll be safe while I’m gone.
CHAPTER 16
Flick
Sebastian is at his conference and I’m not working at Knit Happens today, so I decide to walk to the coffee shop for a cup of tea. I need to finish up some dyeing before the Chronic Pain Crafters group this evening, but first, I need to stretch my legs and get out of the house. The bell above the coffee shop door jingles as I step inside, a welcome blast of warmth chasing away the late autumn chill. The smell of roasted beans and cinnamon surrounds me, and for the first time all day, I feel a sliver of calm.
“Hey, Flick!” Grace, the barista, waves from behind the counter. “Your usual?”
“Hi, Grace.” I smile, setting my purse on the counter. “Yes, please.”
“One decaf earl grey coming right up.” She grabs a to-go cup and writes my name on it.
I look around while waiting. Because it’s the middle of the day, the place is quieter than usual—just a few people hunched over laptops. My eyes settle on someone at a table by the window. They’re dressed in a black hoodie, face partially obscured by the brim of a baseball cap. Something about them makes my stomach twist and my anxiety spike.
I tell myself it’s nothing. Plenty of people wear hoodies and baseball caps, especially when the weather is chilly. They’re not even looking at me. I’m just hyper-aware right now because of the messages and package.
My phone buzzes in my pocket. I hope it’s Sebastian. I want an update on how the conference is going and need a distraction from my anxious thoughts. I pull out my phone and look at the screen. It’s a text from an unknown number:
Nice choice. I’ll have to try the earl grey next time.
I freeze, immediately glancing toward the window where the person in the hoodie had been sitting. They’re gone. The chair is pushed back like they left in a hurry. A chill runs down my spine.
“Here you go, Flick.” Grace sets the to-go cup on the counter, snapping my attention away from the window.
“Thank you.” My voice comes out as barely a whisper.
I grab my cup and walk outside, scanning the street for any sign of the mystery person. Nothing. I don’t know what I would do if I saw them anyway. I need to call Sebastian, even though he’s hours away. I just need to hear his voice. Hopefully he’s not giving his presentation or busy with other things.
The phone rings three times. “Hey! I was just thinking about you. What’s up?”
I take a shaky breath. “Sebastian...” I trail off, trying to compose myself.
“Flick, are you okay?” Concern laces his voice.
“No... they were here... at the coffee shop. They sent me a message about my order and then left.”
His tone turns urgent. “Are you still at the coffee shop? I need you to go back to your house right now and lock the door, okay? I’m going to stay on the phone with you until you get there.”
I nod, even though he can’t see me, and hug my warm tea to my chest. The street suddenly feels too quiet and too empty. But Sebastian’s calming presence on the other end gives me courage to start walking. My quick breathing clouds in the cold air as I walk but I don’t slow down. I’m not running, but I am walking at a determined pace. Halfway home, a car’s engine rumbles to life behind me. I turn, heart pounding, just in time to see a dark sedan pull away from the curb.
Was it them? Or just a random person?
I ask Sebastian how the conference is going to distract myself from the feeling of being watched. He tells me a funny story about one of the other presentations. By the time I get home, my heart has slowed to a healthy rate despite the pace of my walk, and I’m even able to smile a little at the childhood stories he’s telling me to keep my mind off what just happened.
“Okay, I’m home.” I tell him once I’m inside.
“All locked in?”
“Yes, all doors and windows are locked and the cameras are on.”
“Good. I’m so sorry I’m not there with you, Flick.”
I chuckle. “Sebastian, you have a job and a life. Don’t apologize for not being at my beck and call 24/7. Besides, I have dyeing to do and then the Chronic Pain Crafters group tonight. I’ll be just fine.”
“Okay.” He sighs. “But I still wish I was there.”
“Me too,” I admit softly.
