Looking around the restaurant, you wouldn’t think it’d be a prime location for romance, but anyone who’s ever been here knows it’s a gem hidden between the vast spans of farmland and forests. It’s jammed between a law office and an insurance agency in a nondescript building from the 80’s that looks like it’s in dire need of maintenance. Green leather booths peppered with scuffs and tears line the walls and there may or may not be an even number of chairs at the tables at any given time. The acoustic ceiling tiles near the kitchen are caving in, but there’s an immaculate fish tank near the hostess stand that looks like it belongs in a five-star hotel.
And it’s always crowded—always. I also love the name, Thai Planet. Its purple and green neon sign reminds me of a bowling alley and the name makes me wonder if I’ll run into the cast of Toy Story under the tables. But I’m not a snob. Far from it, actually. This is where I feel most comfortable, in an unassuming place with character that takes on a life of its own with each story shared over a plate of Pad Kee Maow.
“That’s really sweet,” Valerie takes a sip of water, “back in Cuyahoga Falls, there was a Chinese place that was kind of like this—didn’t look like much on the outside, but the food was amazing. Not like regular takeout, but authentic Chinese that you can’t get just anywhere.”
“Are you from Ohio, too?” I ask in disbelief.
Valerie pauses, going silent, “Yeah!” she finally grins, “That’s where I grew up…before moving here. Is that where you’re from?”
I nod and continue to wrap noodles around my chopsticks, “I grew up in North Bay, on the lake.” I glance up with a smirk, “What are the odds?”
“That’s so crazy,” she laughs, skewering a piece of chicken, “what brought you here?”
I continue twirling my noodles, taking leisurely bites of egg and broccoli, and savoring the sauce with just the right amount of spice. I could make something up—something normal. I could make it seem like the last year of my life weren’t taken straight out of a Lifetime movie. But what’s the fun in that?
“Well, I went to OSU and then worked in research and development,” I lift my eyes to meet Valerie’s, “but then I had to run for my life.”
She does a doubletake and her chewing slows, “Run for your life?” she repeats.
“Yeah,” I nod, “this guy I was…involved with…” I never know what words to use. They differ greatly depending on whether I’m talking about the beginning or the end of the story, “To make a long story short, I discovered he was surveilling me and gaslighting me so bad that I thought I was going insane.” I look down at my hand and confirm that it remains perfectly still, “It almost ruined my life. And then one night I got home from work and he was waiting for me…” I trail off, deciding not to go any further.
I look down at my hand again and it still hasn’t moved. The muscles are still relaxed, calm, not on the brink of panic. It’s good I decided to stop there. Don’t tempt fate, right?
“Waiting for you?” Valerie repeats with apprehension, hoping for some elaboration but refusing to come right out and say it.
I nod and pop a cube of tofu in my mouth, “He did some awful things. To me, to other people, but…” I trail off, pressing my mouth together as my eyes wander across the table top, “can I tell you a secret?”
Her brow arches in surprise, “Yeah,” she laughs, “of course.”
I take a deep breath, hesitating like I’m still trying to decide whether to speak. Then I plant my elbow on the table and bring my hand to my cheek as though to obscure my words from prying eyes.
“Even though he did awful things to me, I still think about him sometimes,” I murmur, my eyes rolling in shame, “I’d never met anyone like him. He was like a storm—slowly building before finally letting loose and wrecking everything in his path. He was a different breed…” I muse, “he spent so much time waiting for me and searching for me, and when he did, he was just as much mine as I was his,” I shoot her a wry grin over the table, “because he has a type…”
Valerie stares at me across the booth, her caramel irises hanging onto every word. Her eyes are alert, looking receptive and concerned, but there’s a faint rosiness of discomfort about her cheeks.
I tense my body and suppress the urge to cringe and instead smile, lowering my voice to continue my confessions, “Even after all this time, I’m sure he still sleeps in the same bed. Probably the same sheets, too.” I pause, letting my eyes fall back to the table as a faint smile creeps across my face, “He’s such a psycho, he probably hasn’t even washed them since.” I glance to the side, “He’s sentimental like that. He likes to keep things that are special to him…”
I want to vomit with each and every word and I have to smile to mask the loathing. I hear my voice, but I can’t believe this filth is coming out of my mouth, and not the good kind, either. But by the look Valerie’s giving me, I wouldn’t be surprised if she thinks I’m about to rub one out under the table. Her eyes are soft and her mouth relaxed, but the veins pop along her golden neck like the strings of a harp. And I’m playing a solo just for her.
“Sometimes I wonder what I’d do if I saw him—if he found me again. I know he’d try to convince me to come back to him,” I shoot her a devious grin, “and it would be fun to let him try…”
Valerie’s fidgeting like she has a nervous tick. Maybe she does. One of my friends in high school, Jimmy Leach, had Tourette’s Syndrome and sometimes his tics were so bad during Algebra exams that he’d accidentally punch me in the arm.
I give my head a shake and my eyes brighten again as I shift my train of thought, “I don’t know why I’m telling you all this,” I laugh, “maybe because I don’t know you that well, yet. It’s weird how the less you know someone, the easier it is to tell them anything. Anyway,” I laugh, “I’m saying a lot of words. I hope this doesn’t make you uncomfortable.”
“No way!” Valerie shakes her head, “It’s not weird at all. Sometimes you just have to let things out before they become too much. Besides,” she flashes her eyes at me, “who doesn’t like hearing a few sordid secrets?”
Not you, that’s for sure.
Even though Valerie’s face begs for more details, I see the chaos swirling behind her eyes like a hurricane. She plasters her glossy mouth and perfectly contoured cheekbones into an enchanting smile, but the way she neurotically taps her ruby painted toes and rips apart the corner of her napkin tells a different story.
I take a sip of water, trying to stifle the giggle threatening to erupt at any moment.
I’ll eat you alive, you sneaky bitch.
CHAPTER FORTY-FIVE
Brett
One Year Ago
Somehow, I manage to stay away from the office for an entire week. Although I’m still obsessing about whether I’ll hear back from literary agents, my schedule is light enough that I can work from home and get some much-needed space from everything—and everyone. I even remote in to the weekly meeting, where I can lurk like a voyeuristic phantom in the ether and stare at everyone in the conference room through the camera feed in the ceiling.
Is this what it feels like to be a stalker? Except, in my case, no one cares…
Colson sits in the same place he does every week, but this time next to an empty chair, across the table from Alex. I’m shocked that Abby doesn’t take the opportunity to sit in my usual seat, since she thinks Colson’s such a doll. And when the meeting ends, I close the Teams window and disappear back to the secrecy of my house, miles away.
But it doesn’t last.
I know I have to go back. I can’t stay away forever, especially when I get an urgent email at 6:30 the following Monday morning from Dave that there’s a problem with the server room keypad and we’re at the brink of a major security incident and multiple breaches of contract unless it’s fixed by close of business today. In other words, I need to execute checklists with maintenance and security because the hardware on the doors hasn’t been replaced in over a decade. And I’m the lady with the lists who signs the paperwork.
I need to keep my head in the game. I still have a job to do, and I can still do that well, regardless of what’s happening around me. And that’s what I’m marinating on while I make my way to the second floor, clutching the shoulder strap of my tote in one hand and holding my blue and white striped maxi skirt above my ankles with the other. But as soon as I round the corner, who do I see, but Colson Lutz.
He’s standing against the wall, adjacent to my closed door, staring straight down the hall at me. One of his hands sits at his vest, his thumb hooked over one of the Velcro straps, while the other hangs at his side, holding a white paper coffee cup by its black plastic lid. The same type from the break room.
I don’t know why I’m surprised. This is his detail, after all—his turf. Just like it used to be mine. I half expect to open the door and see him already inside my office, just hanging out like he always does. The fact that he’s waiting outside the door like a normal person seems too weird—too polite—for him.
When I come to a halt in front of him, he pushes off the wall, responding to my disinterested demeanor with a slight smile. He looks me up and down, lingering at the bottom of my skirt covering my platform Espadrille sandals.
