“Thanks, Jess,” I say, pushing to my feet and crossing to the coffee bar.
Once at the counter, I pick up the two cups in my order and eye the sides of the cups to figure out which is mine. I blanch at what I find. There’s a note scribbled on the side of my cup that reads:Red suits you.
Chapter Twenty-Three
Red suits me?
I blink at the cup and glance around, expecting someone familiar—Kevin, perhaps, after the message he sent me, or maybe Jack, trying to boost my confidence. Not that either has ever done such a thing, but someone did. The barista, a woman in her sixties, sets another cup on the counter.
Assuming she’s been enlisted in the delivery of the message, I hold up my cup with the script pointed in her direction. “Did you write this on my cup?”
Her brows dip, her eyes squinting. “Hmm. Don’t know how that got there. I don’t even have a pen.” She gives me a once-over and adds, “But that is a pretty red sweater.”
“I, ah—thanks,” I say, confused as heck right now and a little creeped out. This is two notes in one week, in two different places. The rules of logic tell me this isn’t a coincidence.
I step away from the bar and rejoin Jess, who is still on the phone, a prickly sensation on my neck that’s becoming way too familiar. I set her cup in front of her and sip my contrary vanilla white mocha to find it delicious.
Jess takes one look at me and quickly ends her call. “I’ll call you later. Right. Bye.” She sets her phone down. “What’s wrong for real this time?”
Nothing,I think.Everything,I amend, but my head is spinning, and I’m not ready to vocalize my fears, which is why I say, “Did you talk to the attorney?”
“Yes. He’s calling your father in an hour, but I want to call him before the attorney does. What’s wrong?” she repeats.
I’m thinking about my serial killer dating-app joke that wasn’t all that much of a joke, which spurs me to ask, “Did you put my personal information on the dating site? Like my address or workplace or favorite coffee shops?”
“Of course not. I’m many things, but stupid isn’t one of them. Again. What’swrong? What just happened? Because between the time I sat down and you joined me, something transpired.”
“Wednesday, when I was at Caroline’s, someone left me a note on my computer, telling me I looked beautiful. It felt random because it was addressed to the fake name I gave the barista.”
“That’s kind of romantic,” she declares. “You have no idea who did it?”
“None.”
“Okay, so this was Wednesday, and I’m not sure it’s something to be freaked about, but you are freaked out. From the time I walked in until now you—”
“Right. This just happened.”
I turn my cup around for her to read the writing and speak my previous thoughts out loud again. “Two notes. Two different places. Two different days. Did you do this to try to build my confidence?”
She snorts and still manages to sound delicate. “I believe in fake forever things that elicit compliments, such as fake boobs or nails. Those things I will buy for you, as I did myself. But fake compliments that elicit no further compliments are worthless. And when would I have had time to do such a thing?”
She’s right. She does believe in “fake forever,” and she’s not one to play games with me or anyone, for that matter. That’s just not Jess.
“Maybe it’s a coincidence,” she suggests.
“Two notes. Two locations. Two different days,” I repeat. “I’ve read enough crime novels to know that isn’t a coincidence.”
“Could Jack be doing it?”
“I thought of that, but he’s never done anything like this ever. We’re friends. We don’t cross lines. It’s not even in the air between us. We have zero spark. You know this. He doesn’t tell me I’m beautiful.”
“He was worried enough about you after the presentation to call me.”
“The first note arrived before the presentation.”
Her brows dip. “Hmm. Curious. Any other idea who might be stalking you?”
“Oh God. Are you serious? You had to pull out thestalkingword, didn’t you?”
