As I make my way to the foyer, I glance at the clock on the wall. 8:00 P.M. Please, lord, do not let it be Derek. Turning on the camera for the front entrance, I peek to see who it could be. I see a skinny, young man, maybe early twenties with brown hair, carrying numerous bags on each of his arms, almost as though he didn’t want to make a second trip to his car.
“Can I help you?”
“Hi, yes. I’m looking for Danielle Moore in apartment 2B.”
“That’s me,” I say hesitantly.
“Great, if you could let me in, I have your groceries here. I can bring them up to your door.”
What in the actual hell is going on?
“Sure...” I buzz the door, letting him into the building. Did I order groceries and forget about it? No… there’s no way. I distinctly remember my plan to go grocery shopping tomorrow morning.
Hearing a knock at my door, I undo the lock to open the door wide as I take in all the groceries that are set on the ground before me. He breathes heavily as he starts to pull out the receipt and a pen.
“Ummm, are you sure these groceries are for me?” I ask. I would feel bad if these were actually one of my neighbors and I just swept in and took them as my own.
“YouareDanielle Moore, right? It says your name right here on my order form.”
“Yeah, that’s me. I just don’t remember ordering anything.”
“Look lady, I can’t take the groceries back. They’ve already been paid for,” he says, clearly frustrated now.
“No, no, it’s fine. I get it. I’ll take them.”
“Great, I just need you to sign here, please.”
Worried that my card was charged, I take a copy of the receipt to look over. He leaves in a hurry and I quickly take stock of everything; there must be a dozen bags of groceries here. How he managed to carry all these bags on his arms is beyond me, but it really takes the phrasetwo trips is for pussiesto a whole other level.
I start to busy myself with putting away the groceries, inspecting each bag as I go. There are quite a few of my favorite items, such as sushi rolls and the ingredients for root beer floats. Confused all over again, I walk back to the kitchen table andpick up the receipt. The order was placed around 3:00 P.M., but next to the order name is justmyname. The last four of the card number are not ones I’m familiar with, so not my card then. Also, at 3:00 P.M. I was still working at the diner, so definitely not placed by me either.
I start to worry all over again. Could this have been from Derek? I don’t know his card numbers to know for sure if it was him or not. The last thing I want to do is open a line of communication to ask him either because what if it wasn’t him? He’d think I was just trying to talk to him again. No, I can’t ask him.
I have no choice but to accept the groceries and move on with my night. Seeing that I have no other option, I finish putting away the groceries—I can’t be late to this date.
My date startedat a coffee shop down the road before we left to get a bite to eat, but the entire time we’re out at dinner, I swear I feel eyes on me. It sends chills racing down my spine and I’m constantly looking over my shoulder, scanning the crowd at the restaurant. My date, Tim, can tell something is off with me, making the entire date awkward at best.
Tim has been nice enough; he talks about himself a lot, though. He’s about five foot eight, lanky, and wears really nerdy glasses, which I actually like. It suits him. He’s not the usual type of guy I go out with, hell we are polar opposites if I’m being honest. He’s a tech nerd, and I’m the tattooed, pierced, emo chick. My usual taste, well, I always resort back to those blue eyes.
“So, as I was saying, the tech firm has really grown this past year and I’m on my way to becoming partner. I think I’ll have the position in the bag by the new year… Are you even listening?” Tim asks, getting irritated.
I turn back to him, immediately annoyed with his tone, but I keep my own tone sweet. “Yes, I’m listening. You’re getting a promotion soon if the business keeps doing good.”
“No, I said I’ll be partner.”
I pull my napkin from my lap and put it down on the table. “Tim, you’re a really nice guy, and I’m sorry I’ve been distracted, but I think it’s time for me to go.”
I start getting up from the table, reaching into my purse to grab a hundred-dollar bill. Placing it on the table, I look to Tim. “There’s enough there to cover my tab and tip. I apologize.”
Tim looks at me like I’ve grown two heads. “OK, are you sure I can’t convince you to stay for dessert?”
“The offer is very sweet of you, but I’m afraid I can’t stay. I’m sorry.” I leave before he can protest any further.
I always choose places that are walking distance from my apartment for this exact reason. If I need to escape the date, I don’t have to rely on a ride home, I can just walk. And it means I don’t get caught in awkward silence on the drive, or worse, get caught in a car with a man with ulterior motives.
As I start to walk back to my apartment, the voices and sounds of the restaurants and bars fade to nothing as I get farther away and closer to home. The sound of footsteps soon fill up the space behind me and I quicken my pace. I look over my shoulder, but no one is there. That’s weird.
When I reach my apartment building a few minutes later, I can’t escape the sense of eyes on my back. Taking a quick peek around, I see nothing. But that doesn’t mean someone isn’t hiding in the shadows.
