I’m crazy for her.
“You’re probably hungry, how about I cook us some dinner?”
She hugs Graham tighter but doesn’t answer. I take that as a yes.
Leaving her to process, I head down the stairs and into the kitchen. I bought ingredients to make souvlaki, homemade tzatziki and pita bread, with a feta salad.
Rolling up my sleeves, I get to work.
Emily
I want to not eat out of defiance, but my stomach growls, betraying me. I scoop Graham into my arms and carry him downstairs toward the kitchen.
The room is split into two. On the right, a sleek slate-grey kitchen gleams with stainless steel appliances and a gorgeous island in the centre. To the left, a large wooden dining table now sits covered in an array of Greek food.
My breath catches.
Does he know?
My stalker stands by the table, mask in place, his sleeves rolled to the elbows. A flash of ink covering his forearms dislodges something in my brain, but it’s gone before I can place it. He notices my gaze and quickly rolls his sleeves back down, mumbling something under his breath.
“Come sit,” he says. “I made souvlaki.”
He ushers me toward the table, and I sit—only because I’m starving.
He plates the food for me like I’m a child, then takes the seatacross, watching. Not eating. Just watching.
I take a bite and moan at how good it is.
He shifts in his seat.
“I’m guessing this isn’t a coincidence?” I ask.
He shakes his head but doesn't explain how he knows.
My grandfather was from Greece. Every time we visited, he made this dish. It’s one of my favourites.
Something warms inside me—something small and dangerous—because he took the time to learn that.
Then I snap myself out of it.
This man is my stalker. A murderer. I can’t forget that.
He just sits and stares while I eat. It’s unnerving—especially when I can’t see his eyes.
“Are you not hungry?” I ask.
He shrugs, gesturing to the mask.
I pause, fork halfway to my mouth. “What if I turn away?”
“How do I know you won’t look?”
I shrug. “Guess you’ll have to trust me.”
This isn’t a trick. Whatever’s wrong with him—whatever damage he’s carrying—I want to understand it. But right now, I just want him to feel comfortable. That way, he's more likely to open up.
He nods once.