The Stranger I Already Knew

Chapter 10 The First Stranger

For the next six days, Rosalie looked toward the back door every morning.

She hated that she did it. The garden was always empty, with no enormous shape waiting on the patio, no muddy pawprints cutting across the grass, and no dark head lifting when she entered the room. By the third morning, she had moved the water bowl from the kitchen doorway. By the fourth, the folded towels went back into the cupboard. The blanket beside the fireplace lasted until day six.

Rosalie told herself she had simply forgotten it was there.

Tessa never commented, which was how Rosalie knew she had noticed every bit of it.

…

Flour & Honey helped because the bakery did not care that Rosalie had spent several days nursing a wild animal only for it to vanish before sunrise.

Bread still had to be shaped, orders still had to be filled, and Mrs. Parker still needed her Friday loaf with the solemn urgency of someone preparing for a national emergency. Amelia Daniels had also decided ordinary almond cookies were no longer enough and now wanted something involving pistachio cream she had seen online.

Normal problems were easier. Rosalie liked knowing exactly what could fix them.

“Rosie, unless blueberry muffins have recently become chocolate, those labels are wrong.”

Rosalie looked down at the tray in front of her. Tessa was right.

“Oh.”

Tessa leaned against the counter. “You sleeping?”

“I sleep every night.”

“That was not the question.”

Rosalie reached for the correct label. “Then ask a less invasive one.”

Tessa studied her for another moment, but the bell above the door chimed before she could answer.

Mrs. Parker came in carrying an umbrella and took one look at Rosalie. “You look tired.”

Rosalie pointed at Tessa. “See what you started?”

“I haven’t said a word to her.”

Mrs. Parker ignored them both and began asking whether Rosalie was working too much again. Rosalie smiled, fetched the usual loaf, and listened to a familiar lecture she had heard in several versions over the years.

There were advantages to being known in a small town. There were also disadvantages, particularly when everyone seemed capable of noticing the exact things Rosalie wanted left alone.

Including, apparently, the habit she had developed of touching her bare throat.

Her fingers found skin where the silver chain had always rested. She dropped her hand quickly.

Tessa saw that too.

Again, she said nothing.

Rosalie almost wished she would.

…

Wildlife rescue called twice during the week.

The first time, Nora asked whether the wolf had returned. The second time, she told Rosalie no injured wolf matching the description had been reported to any nearby sanctuary or rescue service.

The metal shard had been collected for examination, but there was still no official explanation for what it was or why it had been buried in the animal’s shoulder.

Rosalie also mentioned the boot prints.

That produced more questions than answers. Had she seen anyone in the forest? No. Could hikers have passed through? Possibly. Had anyone threatened her directly? Not exactly.

The strange customer who had asked where she lived came to mind. So did the shape beyond her garden and the way the wolf had stood at the window, tense and watchful.

Nora advised her to report anything else unusual.

For several days, nothing happened.

Then Rosalie began noticing dark vehicles.

A black SUV near the petrol station. A dark sedan parked at the edge of the town square. Another vehicle idling two streets from the bakery long enough for her to notice it twice.

Once you started looking for something, you saw it everywhere. Rosalie knew that. She also knew the explanation was becoming less comforting.

On Thursday afternoon, she looked through Flour & Honey’s front window and saw a black SUV parked directly across the street with its engine running.

She stopped wiping the counter.

Tessa followed her gaze. “Do you recognise it?”

“No. I don’t even know if it’s the same one.”

“Want me to take the plate?”

Rosalie hesitated, then shook her head. “There are other businesses on this street. I am not calling the police because somebody parked near a bakery.”

Tessa moved closer to the window. “You don’t have to call anyone. Taking a plate number costs nothing.”

That was annoyingly sensible.

Before Rosalie could answer, the SUV pulled away from the curb and disappeared around the corner.

Tessa watched it go. “I’m staying at yours tonight.”

“You have your own home.”

“And yet I am choosing yours. Try to feel special.”

Rosalie almost smiled. “You cannot keep sleeping over every time somebody drives a black car.”

“No, but I can do it when somebody asks where you live, someone stands outside your garden, a wolf disappears beside fresh boot prints, and now cars keep turning up near you. I’m very adaptable.”

Rosalie had no good answer to that.

…

Across the street, Rowan Vale watched Flour & Honey disappear in the side mirror.

He had expected something different from Rosalie Bennett. Someone guarded, perhaps, or someone clever enough to know exactly why she had become interesting.

Instead, he had spent the better part of twenty minutes watching her explain two kinds of bread to an elderly customer before quietly slipping an extra pastry into the woman’s bag when she thought no one was looking.

The driver glanced at him. “That her?”

“That’s her.”

“And what do you think?”

Rowan looked down at the closed file on his knee. It contained very little that mattered: twenty-seven years old, owner of Flour & Honey, no criminal record, no known connection to any pack, no unexplained financial activity, and no obvious reason to be involved in what had happened near Blackridge.

Yet somehow she was.

“She doesn’t appear to know anything,” Rowan said. “If she’s hiding something, she’s very good at looking ordinary.”

The driver grunted. “We heading back?”

“Not yet.”

Rowan checked the rear window. The bakery was already shrinking behind them, all warm lights and small tables behind rain-speckled glass.

His phone vibrated.

A single message waited on the screen.

Well?

Rowan stared at it for a moment before replying.

She appears unharmed. She doesn’t know anything.

The response came quickly.

Keep it that way.

Rowan’s mouth tightened. He typed another message.

And if they come looking for her?

This time the answer took longer.

Long enough for the driver to glance over. “Problem?”

Rowan’s screen lit again.

They won’t get close enough.