Falling In Love With You Again

8

Cheska POV

Over the next few days, the sun kept rising over Lindenhurst, and I kept up my simple, comfortable routine.

Every morning before work, I’d walk down to the neighborhood bakery, taking in the rich, cozy scent of fresh sourdough and cinnamon rolls drifting out onto the pavement.

Except lately, the pleasant morning walk came with a cold, crawling sensation at the back of my neck.

Someone was watching me.

At first, I tried to scoff and shake it off, telling myself I was just being paranoid from reading too many thriller novels.

But the feeling refused to leave. On Tuesday, I felt an extra pair of eyes while picking out apples at the grocery store.

On Wednesday, a quiet shadow lingered just out of sight near the clinic's glass doors. And now, walking down the sidewalk toward the bakery's bright yellow sign, the hair on my arms stood completely on end.

I stopped dead in my tracks, spun around, and caught him red-handed.

A few yards behind me stood a tall man clad in a dark cap pulled low and a plain white medical mask, freezing mid-step like a deer caught in headlights.

Instead of ducking into the store or pulling out my phone to dial 911, my anger flared hot and fast. I marched straight up to him, stopping right in his face with my hands jammed onto my hips.

"WHAT THE HELL DO YOU WANT?!" I yelled, my voice cutting sharply through the quiet morning air. "You've been stalking me for days now, and you honestly thought I wouldn't notice?!"

The man’s icy blue eyes widened in genuine, utter panic. "I—I wasn't stalking you," he stammered, his voice muffled behind the fabric. "I came here to buy... um, bread."

"Really? Bread?" I scoffed, crossing my arms over my chest and glaring up at him. "Last night, you were lurking behind the cereal aisle at the grocery store. A few days ago, you sat right behind my fiancé and me at the Greek restaurant. And yesterday, I saw you standing across the street from my clinic! Who are you?! Tell me right now or I swear to God I'm calling the police!"

I whipped out my phone, my thumb hovering aggressively over the screen. "Tell me, or I'm pressing call!"

He held up two hands in frantic surrender, his chest heaving under his jacket. "Okay! Okay, I'm sorry! Please, don't call the police... I swear I wasn't trying to scare you!"

"Then take off the mask and cap," I demanded, tapping my foot against the pavement. "Let me see your face so I know who I'm reporting!"

"Okay, fine," he breathed out, bowing his head slightly.

With trembling fingers, he pulled off his dark college cap, letting his dark, styled hair fall free, and untucked the ear loops of his mask, pulling it down to his chin.

He looked up at me.

His eyes were an intense, piercing, impossible shade of blue. A strange, fleeting spark flared in the back of my brain—a weird, ghost-like feeling that I had seen those exact eyes somewhere in a forgotten dream.

Then, the rest of his face clicked into place. He was the same ridiculously dramatic guy who had crashed his bicycle into my adobo and lumpia a few days ago.

And then my brain finally caught up with reality.

My mouth dropped open into a hard O. My eyes nearly popped out of my head.

"Holy s**t," I whispered, taking an involuntary step back. "Holy s**t. You're... you're that guy! From that blockbuster movie, what was it called again? The action one!"

He blinked, bowing his head a little lower, a faint, embarrassed flush creeping up his neck.

"It's you! You're James freaking McHolland!" I practically shouted, pointing a finger at his chest in total disbelief.

James gave a quiet, hesitant nod, his eyes searching my face with a terrifyingly raw intensity that made my heart do a weird, uncomfortable flip.

"Why on earth are you stalking me?!" I blurted out, shaking my head as if trying to wake myself up from an absurd fever dream.

"Seriously dude?! This is completely insane! A world-famous, multi-millionaire actor is following around a... a freaking nobody in Lindenhurst?! Are you completely out of your mind?!"

"I'm not—I wasn't stalking—" James tried to protest, his voice cracking slightly as he fumbled with his cap.

"Riiiiight. You just coincidentally happen to crave the exact same local sourdough and Greek food at the exact same hour as me," I sassed back, rolling my eyes so hard it hurt.

I turned on my heel, pushed open the bakery door, and grabbed my reserved brown paper bag of fresh bread from the smiling sales lady. I tossed a twenty-dollar bill on the counter, grabbed my change, and marched right back outside.

James had already hastily shoved his mask and cap back on, stepping into stride right beside me as I began walking back toward the clinic.

"Look, Cheska, um, I mean Miss Elena,'" he said, keeping his voice low as he trotted beside me, trying desperately to sound casual despite his frantic pacing. "I know how it looks, but I'm staying at the resort down the road for filming, and I just... I like walking around town."

"Oh, please!" I scoffed, hugging the warm bread bag against my chest. "You're a terrible liar, Mr. Movie Star. If I catch you creeping around my workplace again, I don't care how many awards you've won, I'm getting my fiancé to kick your fancy ass off the property!"

James stopped dead in his tracks at the mention of Paul, his blue eyes dimming with a sharp, agonizing pang of hidden heartbreak.

But as I kept strutting down the sidewalk, humming to myself and ignoring him completely, he couldn't help the small, sad, hopeless smile that crept under his mask, trailing quietly behind me like a ghost longing for the sun.

"Can we talk?" James begged, his voice dropping into a low, frantic rasp that sent a strange shudder through my spine. "I mean, just a few minutes. I promise it won't take long, I just... um, I really just need to talk to you."

I froze mid-stride, clutching my warm bakery bag tightly against my chest. I looked around the bustling sidewalk, commuters in sharp suits rushing to the train, store owners sweeping their stoops, and morning traffic crawling down the bay road.

"What the hell do you want, Mr. McHolland?" I asked, lowering my voice so the passing crowd wouldn't hear me addressing a Hollywood A-lister. "If you're looking for someone to play an extra in your movie, trust me, you've got the wrong girl. I suck at acting—"

"Oh, I know you suck at acting," he blurted out instinctively, a weird, phantom familiarity flashing through his eyes before he caught himself. "I mean, that's not what I—"