Page 74 of Shadowed With Fear

“I have never heard of that, but okay, D. Whatever you want.”

I begin the task of heating the soup up on the stove while butter melts in a pan for the grilled cheese.

“Was—Was any of it real?”

The question is mutter softly across the room, and it has my spine straightening.

“Dahlia…”

“Nevermind. Don’t answer that. I’m sorry.” She looks away, tugging a wet, curl behind her ear.

“Yes. Yes, it was real. All of it.”

“So, you were really watching over me, huh?”

I sigh, placing the bread in the pan, and layering the cheese slices. “Yeah, I was. Brahm asked me to look after you.”

“So, you’ve been watching me for a year, and I only found out a month ago.” She chuckles humorlessly.

“No. No.” I shake my head. “He asked me to do it after the Founder’s Fest. I called him. After you ran into me, I walked around the entire back of that damn fest, looking for anyone that could have done that to you. And when I didn’t, I called him and told him what happened.”

“He’s known this whole time?”

“Yeah. Why? Did you not tell him?” I sent her a skeptical look.

“No. I didn’t. I didn’t want him to worry.” She sighs. “Guess, that didn’t really do anything did it?”

My smile is sympathetic as I pull the sandwich off the stove, plating it and her soup. She reaches for the bowl first, setting it in front of her, and grabbing the sandwich straight from the plate. She tosses it back and forth between her hands for a few seconds before dropping it into the soup.

“So, if you haven’t been watching me since last Halloween, who has been? It can’t be Alex or Adam because of their jobs. So what? Henry?” Dahlia questions cutting up the grilled cheese with her spoon and stirring the pieces around her bowl.

“No. None of us were doing it before the Fest.” I reply watching her quizzically as she creates this abomination in her bowl.

“Then who have I been feeling watching me?” Fear is sharp in her tone.

“I—I don’t know, D. I don’t know if there’s someone and they’re so good we haven’t noticed or…” I trail off, scratching my neck.

“Or I need to see a therapist. Got it.” She deadpans taking a bite. A quiet, satisfied little moan slips out as she chews.

“Good?”

She nods.

“I’ve never seen anyone eat soup that way,” I chuckled at her mock offense.

“Optimum soup soakage.” She grins and I laugh.

Dahlia finishes up her bowl, and I place it in the sink. We’ve gone quiet again.

“I meant what I said Dahlia.” I glance over at her. I see the gentle flush of her cheeks and the bob of her throat as she swallows before smiling softly.

“In the notes and in person?”

“What notes? I never wrote you notes, other than the birthday card.”

She blanches.

“He was leaving you notes?” My tone is cold.