Midnight

Oscar

“Yeah, sure,” I answer Frankie’s invitation to come inside.

Something seems off with her, but that’s secondary to the real reason I said yes. I’ve missed her these past few days.

She flashes a brief smile as she steps past me to open her door. Methodically, she unlocks and opens it, revealing a tail-wagging Brad on the other side. “Ciao, bambino.”

I step in behind her, carrying the bags of groceries. “Want me to check upstairs?”

She glances over her shoulder from halfway to her kitchen. “I can do it. Just putting my cupcake somewhere safe.”

Priorities. Make sure the cupcake is safe before she checks for herself. Sure, between the cameras and the dog, the chances of someone being in here are slim, but they’re not zero. And I wouldn’t put anything past this creep.

Still, she’s just accepted my apology, so I’m not going to point any of that out.

I meet her in the kitchen with her groceries, setting them on the counter.

“Look away. I don’t want you to judge me,” she instructs, situating herself in front of the bags.

“Does my opinion really matter?”

She pauses with a box of mac and cheese in her right hand. “Yes.”

That’s a surprise. Based on the first several months of our interactions, I’d have thought she was pretty confident in her decisions and wouldn’t care what I thought. Her flushed cheeks say otherwise.

“I’m not going to judge you.”

She keeps herself in front of the counter as she pulls out a pack of frozen mini pizzas, packaged pierogies, and a tub of frozen whipped topping.

Okay. Maybe I will.

I watch as she unloads a bag of gummy bears, yogurt-covered raisins, and a four-pack of chocolate bars before I can’t take it anymore. “How do you survive?”

“See. Judgment. I had a bad day.” She gives me a stern look, lacking any intimidation factor. “I got strawberries, at least.” She pulls out the container, looking quite proud of the one whole food she purchased. “Needed something for the whipped cream,” she adds, turning to put the berries in the fridge.

I shake my head and step a little closer. When she stands upright again, we’re closer than I realized we would be. Too close. Not close enough.

I reach my hand around her back, watching her chest expand with a sharp breath. Once my hand closes around the intended object, I step back and wave the small pink box in front of her. “Looks like you won’t be needing this.”

She lunges forward with a surprising speed that catches me off guard—an impressive feat. “Oscar! You can’t take back a gift!”

It’s not hard for me to fend her off, but I can respect her determination. She must really want this cupcake.

Even Brad gets in on the action. He jumps up at my hip and sneezes, shooting dog snot on my arm tucked behind my back.

“Ah-ha!” Frankie snatches the box from my hand the second I move it to wipe Brad’s germs off. “Teamwork!” She rips open the fancy box and stuffs a bite of the cupcake in her mouth. She closes her eyes and moans as she chews, either oblivious to or ignoring the clump of icing on her lip.

I’ve never really been tempted by sweets… but I am right now. This seems like a perfect opportunity to taste a red velvet cupcake for the first time.

Her eyes open and land on mine as she traces her tongue across her lower lip, taking my taste-test opportunity with it. Her glossy lip looks even more appealing than the processed sugar ever could.

We stand, locked with our eyes on each other. I know what mine are saying. Hers are leaving me less confident.

Finally, Frankie breaks the trance. “I would have offered to share, but now you’ll never know how amazing this is.”

She has no idea how badly I wanted to try it.

“My loss.” I look down at Brad, who now has all four paws back on the floor. “Not cool, man.”

He tilts his head and wags his tail, making it impossible to be mad at him. He follows me upstairs to check things out, and another temptation hits. When we get to Frankie’s room, I have a strong urge to peek in her closet.

Beyond the camera pointed this way that would clearly show me betraying her trust—again—I don’t want to invade her privacy. There’s no appeal in seeing what’s in there if she doesn’t want me to see it, anyway.

Plus, lace on a hanger does nothing compared to how it would look on her.

“Why am I doing this to myself?” I ask Brad.

He takes off back downstairs without answering.

When I return to the kitchen, Frankie has made me another cup of lavender tea. Last time I drank it, I slept better than I have in months, so I don’t hesitate to down the entire contents of the cup and ask for more.

We move into the living room once I get a refill, where we slide into comfortable conversation. She thanks me for sending Blake over the other night and apologizes at least six more times. She also thanks me for the cupcake five more times, gushing over how incredible it was.

I find myself zoned in on the conversation, watching the movement of her lips, the flutter of her lashes, the pulse in her neck. Everything about her is interesting. Sitting here with her is the only place I want to be right now. More than at the muay thai gym. More than strumming my guitar. Way more than listening to my roommates bicker over whose turn it is to do the dishes.

Her presence is soothing, and I feel fully relaxed. With Brad curled up on my hip, I’m too tired to fight it.

What was that noise?

I blink myself awake, scanning my surroundings in the dim light cast from the main floor powder room. Frankie’s house?

Faint footsteps near the front door stop me from questioning why I’m here and spur me into action. A shadow passes in front of the window in a blur.

I rush to the door and struggle to remove the security bar—regretting having bought it for Frankie in this moment—unlock the deadbolts and chain slide, and fling the door open. With the snow almost melted and none on the sidewalks, I don’t have any way of following the footprints, so I scan across the street, to the left, then the right. No sign of anyone.

There was definitely someone here, though.

How does this guy keep disappearing into thin air? How does he keep getting so close to Frankie and not get caught? What would have happened if I wasn’t here? A hundred different rhetorical questions bounce through my head as I stand on the freezing cold porch long enough to make sure no one is around, then turn back inside.

“Oscar?” a shaky voice calls after I close the door and lock it.

Without thinking, I run up the stairs, two at a time, rushing to reassure Frankie everything is okay. When I get to the top, I’m stopped dead in my tracks.

Am I dreaming? Surely, this can’t be real. I didn’t really question waking up on her couch. Didn’t hesitate at the intruder on the porch. But Frankie, stopped in her door frame, hugging herself, dressed in the shortest possible lace-trimmed satin shorts and matching cropped camisole, has to be a dream.

If it is, I don’t want to wake up.

“Oscar?” she asks again, confirming she’s not a figment of my overactive imagination.

“Uh… sorry. Yeah. A noise on the porch woke me up. I think someone was out there, but by the time I opened the door, they were gone.”

Her arms drop, exposing all of her skin that is silkier than her outfit. I blow out a breath, trying to keep focused on the issue at hand.

Unsuccessfully.

She seems to just notice her outfit and crosses her arms back over her chest. “I’ll check the cameras.” She turns into her room, stopping to look back over her shoulder. “Can you stay? Until I check the cameras, at least?” she asks, nudging her head toward her room.

I wasn’t planning on going anywhere anyway, but seeing past her to find Brad sprawled out on the bed, snoring, I’m not confident he’ll be any help should there be another threat. If there even was one in the first place. Maybe I’m just too paranoid and thought I saw and heard something that wasn’t really there.

Frankie crawls back into her bed and leans against the rattan headboard. She pulls the covers up over her chest, then reaches for her phone on the end table. “Did you lock the door?” she asks, her eyes wide.

“Yes. I didn’t get the security bar back up, but it’s locked.”

She exhales and nods with a grateful smile. For the next several minutes, she stares at her phone screen, while I watch her expression shift through a range of reactions from my position standing beside her bed. Concern, confusion, relief, then, the most recognizable one, fear.

“What is it?”

She turns the screen to face me, paused on an image of a man on her porch. Specifically, a man dressed in a black jacket with the hood pulled up over a baseball hat and a bandana over his face.

I rewind and watch the ninety-second clip of him walking up on the porch and looking in the windows, then freezing for a split second before bolting and disappearing. “Something tells me he’s not just a drunk who can’t find the right house.”

When I lift my eyes from the phone and pass it back to Frankie, I realize she’s got tears spilling down her cheeks. I’m so tired of seeing her cry because of this guy. He better hope I never find him, but for her sake, I hope I do.

“Come here.” I sit on the bed beside her and lean her into my chest.

“He’s never going to stop. I—” A sob interrupts her words. Once she composes herself again, she continues, “I have to move again.”

That short statement feels like a blow to my chest. “No, you don’t. You can’t.” I take a deep breath to get my surprising emotions under control. “It’s almost the end of the semester. Don’t leave now. We’ll take this to the police station tomorrow, and maybe they’ll finally take it seriously.”

“Oscar, they couldn’t do anything when he busted in my door. What will they do for a guy on my porch?”

She has a valid point. This entire situation is infuriating. I’m angry that the police department’s hands are tied. I’m angry she’s already had to uproot her life once and is considering it again. And I’m angry there’s nothing much I can do about it.

Instead of giving her false hope or useless reassurances, I just hold her. If this is the last chance I have to make her feel safe, I’ll make it worth it.