Xo Novel
Chapter 12
Trying to act cool and collected while your palms sweat isn’t easy. I wipe my hands on my jeans for the third time, hoping Chloe doesn’t notice. She’s mentioned having a stalker more than once. She’s noticed her walkway being cleaned. And me entering the same bar she entered was pushing things too far. And after watching her last night . . . everything has changed. Everything.
I saw her videos. I can see what she’s favorited. I can see everything and all her hidden kinks. And fuck me . . . they are the same as mine. If Dark Secrets were a dating app, we’d be a match.
But I’m fucking up. I’m getting too close.
Am I hoping to get caught? Because I’m acting really fucking careless right now.
“A stalker to shovel your snow huh?” I say as I chase my question with my beer. “Most people would consider that a good thing.”
“I’ve been getting this feeling lately. And I heard noises . . .” she says. “Last night I freaked myself out and—” She shakes her head. “Clearly I was overreacting since you just admitted to doing my walkway.”
“You live in a safe neighborhood,” I add, “And it was windy last night. But make sure you lock up and keep your eyes open just in case.” I feel like an absolute creep. I’m the cause of her distress, and I’m trying to play it down like it’s nothing.
Then tension in her shoulders relaxes a bit, but I can still see doubt lingering in her eyes. “Yeah, you’re probably right,” she says, but her voice lacks conviction.All content is © N0velDrama.Org.
I need to change the subject, and fast. “So, tell me about your Christmas plans. Anything fun planned? A trip?”
She sighs, taking a sip of her whiskey and grimacing.
“Not really,” Chloe says, setting down her glass. “Holidays aren’t really my thing.”
“No family to visit?” I ask, trying to keep my tone casual.
Yes, I already know the answer to this question, and I feel like an asshole bringing up a painful topic, but I need to take a huge step away from familiar. I feel as if I’m getting too close to being caught. I need to play the perfect stranger role. I need to ask all the “normal” questions a man who knows nothing about a woman would ask.
Chloe shakes her head, a glimmer of sadness crossing her face. “Not anymore. It’s just me.”
Guilt stabs at my gut as I see the pain present. As much as I want to tell her that I know more about her family situation than I should, I can’t let on.
“I’m sorry to hear that,” I say, reaching out to touch her hand briefly before pulling back. “The holidays can be tough when you’re on your own.”
She nods, her eyes distant. “Yeah, it’s . . . it’s not easy. But I manage. What about you? Big family celebration planned?”
I chuckle, trying to lighten the mood. “Nah, I’m a bit of a lone wolf myself. Probably order some Chinese food and watch terrible Christmas movies.” Wanting to give her a little more, I add, “My mother loved the holidays when she was alive, but now that it’s just me . . .” I shrug. “You know.”
“Was she your only family?”
“Yeah, and when she died, I bounced around as a kid does in that situation, but Christmas was never the same.”
Chloe’s eyes soften, and for a moment, I see a glimmer of genuine empathy. “I’m sorry about your mom,” she says quietly. “It’s hard, isn’t it? Trying to celebrate when the people who made it special are gone.”
I nod, surprised by the sudden lump in my throat. I hadn’t meant to bring up my mother, but something about Chloe makes me want to open up. “Yeah, it is. Sometimes I think about trying to recreate those old traditions, but it feels . . . empty.”
She reaches out, her fingers lightly brushing against mine. The touch sends a jolt through me, and I have to resist the urge to pull away. I’m not used to this kind of gentle contact, especially not from her. As if she senses my discomfort, she pulls away and reaches for her drink again.
“I lost my parents a little over two years ago,” she admits. “Car accident we were all in. Things haven’t been the same since.”
I know, I want to say. I want to admit that I was the one working the scene that night. That I was the firefighter who pulled her parents’ bodies from the wreckage. That I held her shaking hand as I got her into the ambulance. That I went to the hospital after my shift to check on her and have watched over ever since.
I swallow hard, forcing myself to maintain eye contact. “I’m so sorry. That must have been devastating.” The words feel hollow, inadequate. I want to tell her everything, to confess that I was there, that I’ve known her pain intimately since that night. But I can’t. It would ruin everything.
She nods, blinking rapidly. “It was. Still is, sometimes. But life goes on, right?” She attempts a smile, but it doesn’t reach her eyes.
I nod sympathetically, keeping my expression neutral despite the turmoil inside me.
Chloe takes another sip of her whiskey, this time not grimacing at the taste. “You know, it’s funny. I haven’t talked about them in . . . I can’t even remember how long. My therapist would probably say this is progress.”
I chuckle, trying to keep the mood light. “Well, I’m honored to be part of your progress, then.”
She laughs, a genuine sound that makes my heart skip. “You should be. I don’t open up to just anyone, you know.”
The irony of her statement isn’t lost on me. If only she knew how close we really are.
“I’m glad you feel comfortable with me,” I say, meaning every word. “Sometimes it’s easier to talk to a stranger, isn’t it?”
“But you aren’t a stranger, are you?”
Her words hang in the air, and for a moment, my heart seizes. Does she know? Has she figured it out? Has she been playing a game of cat and mouse with me? Toying me on to see me squirm? I had tested the limits, and maybe it’s time the truth to be revealed.
I force myself to stay calm, however. Waiting to see.
“What do you mean?” I ask, trying to keep my voice steady.
Chloe smiles, and a wave of relief washes over me. “I mean, we’ve shared hot chocolate together now. That means something.” She giggles. “But yeah, something about you has always felt . . . familiar. You don’t feel like a stranger. At least not anymore.” She leans in, her eyes searching mine. “There’s something about you, Jack. I can’t quite put my finger on it, but . . . I feel like I can trust you. Is that crazy?”
I swallow against the guilt and desire warring inside me. “No, not crazy at all. I feel the same way about you.”
And it’s true. Despite everything, despite the lies and the secrets, I do feel a connection with Chloe. One that goes beyond my initial fascination with her. One that scares me more than I’d like to admit. And after what I discovered about her last night . . . Well, it’s fair to say that my obsession has grown to a completely new level of insanity.
This woman is my dream girl, and she doesn’t even know it.
“Another drink?” I ask, desperate to break the tension.
She nods, and I signal the bartender. As he pours our drinks, I steal glances at Chloe. She’s playing with a strand of her hair, lost in thought. I wonder what she’s thinking about. Is she still worried about her stalker . . . AKA me? Is she thinking about her parents? Or is she thinking about me?
The bartender sets down our drinks, and Chloe raises her glass. “To new friends,” she says with a smile.
I clink my glass against hers, ignoring the voice in my head that screams I’m anything but a new friend. “To new friends,” I echo.
“I’m sure you see a lot of car accidents in your job,” she says.
I freeze for a moment, caught off guard by her sudden change of topic. My mind races, trying to figure out how to respond without revealing too much.
“Yeah, unfortunately, it’s a big part of the job,” I say carefully. “Every accident is different, but they’re all tough to deal with.”
Chloe nods, her eyes distant. “I can’t imagine what it must be like, being the first on the scene, seeing people . . . broken.” She looks at me then, her eyes searching mine. “Have you ever . . . lost anyone? On the job, I mean.”
The question hits me like a punch to the gut. Images flash through my mind: her parents’ mangled car, the smell of gasoline and blood, the way her mother’s hand had gone limp in mine as I tried to pull her from the wreckage. Chloe had been so lucky to have survived that night. No one should have walked away from an accident like that and yet she had.
I take a long swig of my drink, buying time. “Yeah,” I say finally, my voice rough. “It happens. More often than I’d like.”
“I’m sorry,” she says in a way that could melt the most heartless of hearts. “That must be so hard.”
I nod, not trusting myself to speak. The irony of her comforting me about her own parents’ death is almost too much to bear.
“You know,” she continues, her voice thoughtful, “I never got to thank the firefighters who were there that night. When my parents . . .” She trails off, shaking her head. “It’s all a blur.”
My heart pounds so loudly I’m sure she must be able to hear it. I want to tell her. I want to confess everything. But I can’t. Not now, not like this.
Chloe shakes her head, her eyes misty. “This night is becoming a bummer.” She finishes her drink in one gulp, then stands up abruptly. “Why don’t we go for a walk and take in the Christmas lights.”
I hesitate for a moment, caught off guard by her sudden change in mood. But I can’t deny the appeal of spending more time with her, even if it means prolonging this dangerous game.
“Sure,” I say, standing up and reaching for my coat. “Some fresh air might do us both good.”