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After closing the cafe, Azra came with me to my apartment so I could gather a few things before heading to hers.
The stalker… well, stalked the entire time.
Azra’s low growl was near constant.
But he never approached me. In fact, he didn’t come into view even once. Funny enough, he completely left after I arrived at Azra’s.
Maybe he feared the leopard shifter’s wrath.
Maybe he got bored.
I didn’t trust any of it, though, and hardly slept at all.
* * *
The next day was much of the same. He showed up about ten minutes after we opened the cafe. This time, he posted himself on a bench in front of the Happy Flowers shop, wearing a construction worker’s uniform.
Oddly enough, his essence had completely disappeared from the coin. As if a light switch had been shut off, I couldn’t track him at all. Normally, that process was more of a slow fade, but maybe he just hadn’t had the coin for very long.
Still, the problem nagged at me. Everything about him nagged at me.
Azra leaned on the counter, yawning. My shoulder brushed hers as I brought my cup of coffee to my lips and sipped. She groaned, “What is he wearing?”
“A disguise,” I guessed.
“It doesn’t even fit him.”
“Like… his shoulders are going to bust the seam.”
She chuckled darkly. “And remind me, what’s the male equivalent of camel-toe?”
I dropped my head and shook with laughter. “Gods, I’m so delirious that I’m laughing at his dick outline.”
“At least it’s a good one.” She downed a cup of water, washing down the taste of her breakfast sandwich, and then palmed her own teacup. “It’s not as bad when he’s standing. See, it’s all hiked up now, but fuck, he could at least close his legs! And he clearly couldn’t find a proper hardhat to pull the look together.”
“The yellow bucket hat is…” I searched for the word. “A bit of an attention-grabber? Like, he could have just gone without it. It’s not doing any favors. No one is convinced.”
As if the universe itself wanted to confirm our thoughts, a clan of real construction workers passed by him. Like their expressions connected to puppet strings, each pair of brows yanked together in confusion and disapproval.
The stalker propped his elbow on the table, oblivious, a tattered book cradled in his palm. As if he was actually reading and not peeking at the cafe over the pages.
“He’s really bad at this,” Azra decided. “Like, there are cameras all over the street. He’s so tall, and that hair.”
I scoffed, “The hair is embarrassing. If you’re going to bleach it and do something illegal, like… don’t. Even pink dye would be less flashy.”
“At least he’d look fae with pink hair.”
“Exactly. No one has hair that light.”
“We would be so much better at his job,” she agreed ruefully.
“Hey!” I exclaimed. “New business venture?”
“Co-CEOs?”
We high-fived and then returned to our countertop lean to sip our drinks. My cheeks hurt from smiling, my heart a little lighter. Humor was the best way to handle life’s absurdities.
But it wasn’t enough to solve them.
