“Something is wrong, I can tell. I'm heading there now.”
“Just wait a second!” I didn't need him rushing here when I wasn't in any danger. At the same time, fuck, I wanted to look into his eyes all over again. I was itching to touch him... and to get answers.
Not for five years had the world felt more awful than it had minutes ago. Whatever reason I had for distrusting the man who'd been spying on me, he was the only thing that made me feel good.
Was this how drug users justified their choices, too?
I started to turn, and across the street, I glimpsed a building. “Here, listen. There's a coffee shop right across the street, the...” I squinted. “Caffeine. I'll wait inside for you.”
“Alright,” he said. “I'll be there in fifteen minutes.”
The line ended, the click as good as a smack to my head. Was I insane? I wanted to laugh at myself. I'd invited my stalker to have coffee with me. Maybe he's infected me with that thing—what's it called, Stockholm syndrome?
Ducking across the street, I stood under the cafe's eaves. It was small, the door pink with green edges. Pushing it open, I walked into the comforting warmth. The smell of cinnamon and bread was distracting, and if I needed anything, it was a distraction.
The shop was a cute, tiny little place with low tables and various rugs strewn over the dented hardwoods. Considering the grey-bloated-ready-to-rain weather outside, it was a welcome escape.
Something firm brushed my leg. Unprepared, I jumped sideways, knocking over a shelf of books over. “What the hell?” I gasped.
At my feet, a calico cat flipped its tail and purred.
“Are you alright?” A young woman asked, hurrying over to me, her green apron marking her as an employee. On top of her black, cropped hair, a pair of fluffy white ears perched.
Slowly, I scanned the room again. Then, even slower, I looked up at the chalkboard over on the wall. The name of the shop was scrawled there, and I understood that I'd misread it outside.
It wasn't Caffeine, it was Caffeline.
A cat cafe.
Scratching my cheek, I said, “I'm fine, sorry.” When I knelt to fix the books, another cat came my way, purring and nudging my thigh.
“It's alright,” the cat-eared woman giggled. “The kittens forgive you, so all is well.”
Blushing, I straightened the last of the books. Reaching over, I gave the newest cat a quick rub behind its cheek. “I've never been inside this kind of coffee shop before.”
“We're new.” Waving for me to follow her, the woman said, “My name's Amina. Here, have a seat and when you're ready, just pick from this menu and flag me down.”
I sat on top of a big fluffy beanbag, sinking deep in the far corner of the shop. It was pretty busy inside, most chairs occupied by people who chatted or browsed on their laptops. Fingering the menu, I grinned at the tiny drawings of kittens and the funny drink names.
I took it upon myself to order two drinks. Silver shoved through the front door moments after Amina set them in front of me.
He was wearing a midnight blue jacket, open so I could see the black shirt clinging to his torso. Maybe the cats will attack him, shredding his clothes. The idea of his sudden nudity made me swallow.
“Pet,” he said softly, sitting across from me. His amber irises were burning with a need for answers. “What happened, why aren't you at work?”
I started to answer, then I stopped. “How do you know I was supposed to be working?”
“Do you think I don't keep tabs on where you are?” He chuckled, like I was the ridiculous one.
I hid behind my small white cup of green tea. “That's not normal.”
“I know.”
I'd expected him to act differently, maybe deny right out of the gate that he'd been stalking me. Instead, he was almost proud of it.
He lifted the cup in front of him, sniffing it. “What's this?”
“It's called a Silver Lynx,” I said, my cheeks going pinker. “I thought you'd appreciate the name.”
Grinning, he watched me intently. “I do.” His sip was slow, lingering. When he finished, he breathed out. “We should talk.”
“About the other night? Yeah. I think we should, too.” My tongue pressed each word like a hammer on an anvil, giving them all a blade's edge. “I need to know how long you've been following me.”
“You're very demanding for a pet.”
“I'm not your pet.”
“You are.” Glancing down, he motioned at a black cat that was stretched out on the cafe floor. It flicked its ears, miraculously swaying over so Silver could rub its head. “You're not wearing a leash anyone can see, but it's there.” When he shot his stare back to me, I stiffened. “And I'm holding the other end of it.”
Bunching up my shoulders, I sighed. “Tell me how you know me.”