Chapter 3
1882 Words
Saturday can’t come soon enough! I’ve been thinking about meeting Owen all week!
The day arrives and I’m in the kitchen holding a cup of hot cocoa. My lipstick smudges on the rim of the cup as the flavor pours into my nose.
I place the warm cup to my mouth again watching the slight drizzle fall.
My whole body is electric from the anticipation. I haven’t felt this excited about a date in a long time.
I take a sip of the hot cocoa and gulp down a mouthful until the cup is almost half-empty.
A lipstick mark facing the room like a private flag of excitement. A tiny, hopeful mess. Normally, I would never leave a cup of hot cocoa unfinished, but today I feel different, and I’m in a rush.
I quickly get dressed and grab my coat and keys, and I take one last glance in the hall mirror.
A nervous smile touches bubbles in my belly and floats to my lips. I leave the apartment, turning the deadbolt with a firm, final click. And rush to meet Owen.
We meet in the middle of the damp sidewalk, and for a heartbeat, we just smile at each other, the air humming with a sweet, nervous energy.
We move at the same time—me stepping forward, his arms open and there’s a brief, clumsy moment when we try to hug but it ends in an awkward, wonderful embrace.
His arms are solid around me, his jacket cool and damp from the rain, but the heat of him seeps through.I breathe in deeply, and his scent—pine, clean cotton, and the faint, crisp bite of the autumn air—fills my senses. For one perfect, stolen second, I let my eyes close and just let myself be held.
It’s been so long.
As I shift slightly and the side of my body presses against his jacket pocket.
I feel a hard, unyielding object. His cellphone, I think automatically, but the shape is too wide and too rigid.
Probably his cellphone I say in a single thought that says hello and goodbye in the same breath.
We pull back from the hug both feeling a little flustered. Our smiles say it all.
“Hi,” I say, the word coming out breathless.
“Hi, Clara.” His eyes are warm, crinkling at the corners. “You look… really nice.”
“Thank you. So do you…you also smell great.” It escapes my lips as I think out loud. His scent is spectacular.
“Oh… Thank you.” He says, slightly taken by surprise.
“So, what do you have in mind for today?” I say to quickly change the subject with my face smiling with embarrassment.
“The sweet potato place is closed for a private event,” he says. “I guess we could go try the Chinese spot I saw a block over. Spicy Dragon. Do you like Chinese?” Owen asks.
“Sure.”
We walk down the sidewalk side by side. He walks close, his shoulder a solid, warm presence beside mine. Every few steps, his hand brushes against the back of mine, a fleeting, electric contact that could be an accident, but happens too often to be one.
Spicy Dragon is warm and loud, filled with the aromatic steam of broth and the clatter of ceramic.
We’re seated at a small table with a built-in burner in the center. Owen orders for me…
“This is the only place that serves hand-pulled noodles in Aldin Town.” he says.
The food arrives in a flurry of plates:
“I ordered the Hot Pot.”
The scented steam from the hotpot is rising from the middle of the table.
“Careful with this one… it’s extra sweet and spicy on this side, and mild on the other side."
It looks delicious with an array of ingredients.
He takes a pair of chopsticks and masterfully maneuvers them around the pot, stirring the hot soup.
“We’ve got thinly sliced lamb, vibrant bok choy, translucent noodles,” he says, turns to the table and points. “And don’t forget the plump, crescent-shaped jiaozi.
He picks up his chopsticks and effortlessly plucks a mushroom and eats it.
“Can you use chopsticks?” He asks.
“Not really…”
I lift them up. My own chopsticks feel like rebellious twigs in my hand.
I twiddle my fingers and fumble when I try to reach anything.
“It’s too slippery.” I say chasing a shrimp around the platter. I feel a warm pressure on my hand.
Owen has reached across the table, his fingers covering mine where they clutch the brown chopsticks.
His touch is firm, grounding.
“Here,” he says, holding it out towards me. “Try it properly. The dipping sauce is key.”
I hesitate, then lean forward, letting him feed me the dumpling.
It’s oddly intimate… his focused gaze on me as I take the bite. The flavors explode—ginger, pork, a hint of chili oil. It’s messy and delicious and entirely new.
I take the chopsticks and try again, this time in the sweet and spicy side.
I get a piece and carefully balance my chopsticks, and it somehow lands in my mouth.
My eyes water instantly, and I gasp, pulling my hand back to fan myself.
“Hot, hot, hot!” I take short breaths of air to cool my tongue - panting like a dog.
He grins, pushing a glass of ice water toward me.
“You tried the spicy side,” he teases. “Brave…”
Later, when I've had more of the delicious meal, I rest my hand on the edge of the table as I take a sip of the water. His hands find mine, then he rests his palm and gently strokes me with this finger. He knows what he’s doing. His face lights up with a gentle and flirty smile.
“Good?” he asks, his voice low.
“Everything is great. This was amazing.” I say.
He pays, I leave a tip and we get up to leave.
He opens the door for me and I step out into the damp, quiet street. A tender, silver rain is shimmering in the faint moonlight, catching the glow of the streetlamps like falling glitter.
“One more thing before I walk you home,” he says, his voice a low rumble in the hush.
He reaches into his jacket and I hear a soft clink. From the inner pocket, he doesn’t pull out his phone. He pulls out a small, stainless steel thermos.
“Want some coffee?” he asks, unscrewing the cap.
The rich, fragrant aroma of dark roast instantly diffuses into the cool, rainy air, wrapping around us like a second, invisible warmth.
I can’t help but smile.
“So you just walk around with a full thermos in your pocket?”
“It’s always a good time for coffee in this rainy town…” He pours a careful measure into the cap and hands it to me. “And I thought you might like it.”
My fingers brush his as I take it. I take a sip—it’s perfect, strong and smooth without bitterness.
As I swallow, he steps closer and slips his arm through mine, tucking my hand securely against his side.
It makes me feel protected in a way that’s deep and disarming.
The moment seems perfect, it’s the only real thing that’s happened to me here.
He walks me to my door after a lovely night. I stand in front of him, looking in his eyes. It’s so perfect and calm in the dark and humid air where the streetlights glow on the dark tarmac streets.
“I had a great time. We should do it again.” I say as I reach for my keys.
“I had a very great time too!” he says with his eyes fixed on mine.
His hand touches my waist, and he moves me closer to him… His gaze drops to my lips, and the world narrows to the space between our breaths. I lean in, the promise of a kiss, a tangible force—
Scrrr-ape-thud.
The harsh, grating sound comes from directly above—from the roof of my apartment building. The sound startles me. I look up to see a brown cat leaping from the roof.
“That’s my neighbor’s cat.” It’s always playing on the roof!
“Well… Alright then…”
I turn to the door, and my apartment door is slightly open.
He sees it too and steps forward and asks, “Did you leave your door open?”
“Of course not…”
Leaving my door ajar is the one thing I’d never do. I moved here to be safe, and I want to stay that way.
I’d never slip up like that… I think to myself but I can’t say much to him.
He can see the worry and concern on my face.
“Don’t worry… I’m here for you.” His strong but gentle tone reassures me. I’m glad he’s by my side.
“Do you think someone is in there?” I ask to assess my options.
He steps forward and pushes the door open some more. He moves with the grace of a SWAT man.
“The lock isn’t broken; it’s as if it was opened with a key.” He says as you step inside and flood the room with light.
“Well… Nothing is missing.” I say.
I look around. It’s just as I left it… but the walls of my house feel different in some sense. I run to look in the bag and find the bookmark tucked between the novel’s pages just as I left it.
The fact that nothing is disturbed sends chills down my spine because I can feel that someone has been in here.
I’m looking around and nothing is wrong. Everything is perfectly in place.
Did I really forget to lock the door? Was it because I was excited when I left? Did someone really get inside?
Could I really be that stupid?
I’m going paranoid and something catches my eye. I notice everything is in place except for one thing.
My eyes sweep the familiar space: the couch, the bookshelf, the clear table. Then it lands on the kitchenette.
My breath hitches.
The white mug. The one I left half-full on the table by the window, the lipstick crescent facing the room.
It now sits, washed and gleaming, upside-down on the drying rack.
Every last trace of me—the cocoa, the smudge, the warmth—is gone. It has been erased and put away with a cold, domestic efficiency.
Someone has been here. They didn’t just trespass. They cleaned up after me and sanitized my hope.
The violation isn’t in what they took, but in what they removed; my entire sense of safety the first night I spent outside the house.
Could they have been watching me the whole time?
Could they have found me already?
Whatever it is… I can’t tell Owen what’s going on. I might have put him in danger.
- Writer
