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This one is done with bold strokes of rose, gold, and red. Not a bad combination, I muse as I settle Sarah on the bed, where she makes a small sound.
The room has sparse furnishings, but everything looks well loved. The armchair has a throw on top of it, made from multicolored pieces of cloth.
A few drawings made by children are stuck on the wardrobe, and I can’t help but smile at how dedicated she is to her young students. There is also a picture of her and a young man. She is grinning with her arm around his neck, and he looked pleased.
This must be the brother, I muse, stepping closer for a better view.
A niggling feeling of familiarity overwhelms me, and I wonder where I saw him before. I can’t place him, but a frown settles on my lips as my mind tells me I have met him.
Maybe at the bar? Or at one of the restaurants?
I glance at the unconscious woman on the bed and feel my blood stir, hot with anger.
This should never have happened.
Taking out my phone, I send a message to Felix, who is the official bartender of Ritters, my bar. His reply comes within seconds, and I feel some of my anger turn into satisfaction. With Sarah’s unwashed glass available, it will be easier to track down whatever she was drugged with.
I would have taken her to the hospital, but she didn’t seem in any immediate danger, and I did not want to get the police involved just yet.
However, I can’t just leave her here, either.
Sighing, I drag the armchair next to her bed and settle in for a long night.
Crossing my feet at my ankles, I study her and wonder where this protective streak came from, for her.
I wouldn’t be sitting in any other customer’s house, keeping an eye on them.
But Sarah isn’t any other customer.
I don’t know what she is.
She mumbles in her sleep, and I reach over and pull her blanket over her, making her sigh in contentment.
My heart skips a beat.
She’s not your type, I tell myself, sternly. And she’s not for you.
The streak of violence that is a part of me will scare her. And I never want the look of stark fear in her eyes. She is too innocent.
But even as I say that to myself, I muse at how easy it would be to whisk her off her feet.
She fascinates me.
She makes me laugh.
Her kindness shakes me.
For the past few days, I centered myself around the bar, always looking out for her.
Asking her out on one date couldn’t hurt, I try to convince myself.
But as I gaze at her sleeping face, something tells me that once I get a taste of Sarah, one date will never be enough.
4
Sarah
My head hurts.
