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I unfold the second note and read, my eyes scanning the lines over and over. My fingers curl into fists and crush the paper. The chill in my bones a juxtaposition to the magma-hot rage in my veins.
Sadistic motherfucker.
One breath after another, I work to settle my boiling fury. Last thing I need to do is exacerbate the situation with undiluted anger aimed at the wrong person.
Kirsten needs someone to trust. Someone to protect her and assure her everything will work out. Someone to be her strength while we hunt this lowlife down. And I’ll be damned if that person is anyone other than me.
I hold up the tattered paper. “This the one from today?”
She nods.
“Have you seen anyone new, other than the construction crew, in the restaurant?”
“Not really.” She tugs the blanket higher. “Most of the tourists are gone.”
“No other notes before the napkin?”
She shakes her head.
“And no sense of someone watching you before that?”
Again, she shakes her head. Her arm snakes out from under the blanket and she grabs a spring roll. After drenching it in sauce, she shoves half the roll in her mouth.
Stress eating.
I’ve seen it countless times, but in less traumatic situations. After a test while waiting for results. At a sporting event when your team is down and the adrenaline is high. During a tense day at work when you’re under the boss’s thumb for a project.
But this is different. Kirsten isn’t eating to fill time or pacify her nerves. No, she is shoveling food in her mouth like a starved, desperate woman. It feels wrong in more ways than one.
“Hey.” I wait for her to put the food down and look in my direction. Minute-long seconds pass without any acknowledgment from her. I set the notes down and scoot in her direction. Lifting a hand, I trace the length of her arm through the blanket. “Hey,” I repeat, a touch softer.
Red, glassy eyes meet mine and I swallow past the emotion in my throat.
Taking the food from her hand, I set it on the table. Then, I erase every bit of space between us and wrap her up in my arms. Like before, she stiffens at my initial contact. But a breath passes and she melts into my embrace.
I hold her tighter, press my nose to her hair and inhale, close my eyes, and get drunk off her warmth, her curves, the intimacy.
“Promise I’ll keep you safe, sunshine. Always.” I kiss her hair.
At this, she shifts and crawls into my lap. She straddles me, hooks her legs around my waist and arms around my neck, and hugs me with unimaginable strength.
“Thank you.”
One arm around her middle, I trail soothing lines up and down her spine with the other. Time slips away as I get lost in the feel of her in my arms. As my body sings at holding her like this. As if she is mine.
Her hold loosens and she inches back. My eyes fall to her lips and I fight the urge to lean in and kiss her.
As if she hears my thoughts, Kirsten puts more space between us. Goose bumps blanket my skin in the absence of her warmth. Still needing some form of contact, I reach up and twirl her wavy blonde strands between my fingers.
Ifeelher watch me as I study my fingers in her hair.
“Travis.” My name on her tongue is soft, sweet, a prayer.
My eyes meet hers. “Hmm?”
She licks her lips and inhales a stuttering breath. “Do you have plans this weekend?”
Is she… asking me on a date?
