Page 3 of Not Another Dark Romance

The salmon is surprisingly good. I eat slowly, savoring each bite while continuing to observe Zane as he moves around the restaurant. He’s efficient and charming with other customers, but I try to convince myself that he’s extra friendly with me when he comes to check in, even if I didn’t get him to laugh or lean in like I’d like him to.

Eventually, Zane drops the check on the table with a deceptively professional smile. “Thank you, enjoy the rest of your night.”

So neutral. So devastatingly, boringly neutral. Not even a hint of “I’m secretly obsessed with you and have already planned your kidnapping-slash-our wedding.” Unless his comment about the rest of my night was some sort of code? Is he saying he wants to see me again later when he’s done working?

If that’s the case, I’m not sure what my next move should be. That wasn’t anything specific to go on.

I pay and leave a generous tip, hoping he notices. With no art in the works, I should probably be a bit more cautious with my spending, but my rent can wait, love cannot. And practically speaking, I do have a good bit saved.

Picking up my book, I stand to leave and head in his direction one last time, just in case he wants to slip me his number or grab my wrist or something as I walk past.

He’s clearing another table, and unfortunately, right when he’d likely notice me, one of the other employees asks him something I wasn’t paying attention to, and he looks their way to respond. “Yeah, leaving as soon as I finish clearing this.”

My interest is immediately piqued, tinged with panic. I’m fully aware that when I leave this restaurant, I’ll likely only see him again if I become a regular here. I’m not opposed to that, but I also need to know more about Zane as soon as possible.

He’s completely stolen my interest. There’s something about the way he carries himself—so confident and assured—that makes me want to be around him. Or under him. Or handcuffed to his bed frame. I’m flexible. Literally and figuratively. I could make whatever position he wants work.

I could follow him when he clocks out shortly.

The idea sounds a bit crazy, even to me, but completely walking away from him right now feels literally impossible, so that seems like my only option. Plus, I’ve read plenty of books where this exact behavior is considered “romantic,” so maybe to some people—like me—it is. Maybe we can casually bump into each other, and he’ll drop the professional act and ask me out. How hard could it be to at least try? The main characters in my books do this sort of thing all the time, and it always works out for them.

Let’s see where my delusion takes me today. It’s not like I have anywhere else to be. Piet probably hasn’t even noticed I’m gone.

Mind made up, I leave the restaurant and stand off to the side to wait for him. After tucking my pink curls under my beanie so I blend in a little more, I naturally reach for my phone, but don’t really scroll. It just seems like the perfect excuse to stand here; maybe I’m waiting for a ride or something if he does see me. How completely inconspicuous of me.

I’m nailing this already. What a brilliant plan.

After five or so minutes, he pushes through the door of the restaurant and turns left to walk away from me down the street. My adrenaline spikes as I follow behind him.

He didn’t even notice me!

My heart feels like it’s trying to beat right out of my chest. Oh my god, I’m doing this. I’m actually stalking someone. This is insane. Unhinged.

I’m so excited.

In all my fantasies, I’ve been the one stalked, not the perpetrator. The roles are reversed, but I don’t care because this is fun. This is the thrill I’ve been chasing. So much good art will inevitably come from this. I’m sure of it.

Zane stops at a crosswalk, and a few more people stop as well to wait to cross the road. It’s a good thing it’s not just the two of us so he doesn’t realize I’m following him. Except when we cross, I’m stuck behind a slow-walking couple. I know I shouldn’t draw attention to myself, but I also need to be able to see the person I’m stalking clearly. “Excuse me,” I mutter to the annoying people in front of me who seem to be on a leisurely stroll with absolutely no sense of urgency. I scoot around them, and now I’m back behind Zane.

My plan is working perfectly. I’m such a good stalker.

That is until he turns down an alley into a parking lot, and my heart sinks.

No. No, no, no. This cannot be happening.

I don’t have a handy car to just jump in to continue following him. How the hell do people do this when the other person has a car? Why don’t the books cover this? This is a serious plot hole in the stalker-to-lovers pipeline. Do I just… run after his car? Call an Uber and say, “Follow that vehicle”? No, that’d take too long anyway.

Unsure what to do and with no time to consult the sacred dark romance texts or even Google, I continue following him. He’s staring at his phone, still oblivious to me and my stealthy stalking skills.

He’s walking toward a black truck, and I’m just standing in a dark parking lot like a creep, realizing I should probably start hiding behind some vehicles. Which, to be fair, is accurate. I am being a creep.

“Eh, semantics,” I whisper to myself as I duck behind a silver SUV. This is fine. Everything is fine. I’m just a normal person hiding behind a stranger’s car at night. Nothing to worry about here.

But then Zane reaches the truck and pulls out his keys. I realize with growing horror that I have approximately fifteen seconds before he drives away forever, and I have to go back to my boring life where the most exciting thing that happens is choosing my meals. And I hate choosing meals.

Fuck. Think, think, think.

He climbs into his truck, and the engine roars to life.