Chapter 2: October 19 - Your Halloween Stalker

Hey you,

You kept it. Fuck, that made me happier than I had any right to be, and I'm not going to insult either of us by pretending I handled it with dignity. You read yesterday's letter in your car before you started the engine. Halfway through, you looked into the rearview mirror. Then the side mirror. Then you glanced over your shoulder at the row behind you and frowned at a man loading groceries because he happened to look in your direction at the wrong time. Poor bastard. After all that, you folded my letter carefully and slid it into the inside pocket of your handbag.

You did it carefully too, beautiful. You could have crumpled it. You could have shoved it under the passenger seat with old receipts, but instead you smoothed the crease first and handled it gently. I've been unbearable ever since. This morning you checked the windshield before you unlocked the car. There was no envelope there. I wanted to see whether you'd look when I hadn't given you a reason to expect another one, and you did. You also looked disappointed for about half a second, which was absolutely delicious.

Don't glare at the page. I'm allowed to enjoy tiny victories, sweetheart. You told your friend over lunch. You called me "some Halloween weirdo," which was rude but fair. She called the letter creepy. You said, "It wasn't that bad," then immediately looked annoyed with yourself for defending a man you can't identify. That was my favorite part. She asked what I knew about you. You mentioned the coffee and the Halloween decorations. You didn't tell her I've been watching for months, and you definitely didn't tell her about my unfortunate interest in your mouth.

Why did you keep that part to yourself? Embarrassment is the obvious answer, but I prefer the less sensible one where you wanted one piece of the letter to stay private. Let me have my delusions; they're harmless enough for now. You spent more time looking at the people around you today. That was interesting. You watched men instead of automatically assuming they weren't watching you, and every time somebody's eyes landed on you, you seemed surprised. I actually hate that. The looking doesn't bother me; the surprise certainly does.

You really don't fucking understand how often people notice you, do you? I've watched men turn around after you passed and women look at your coat or your hair with that quick little flash of appreciation people make when they see something lovely. You miss most of it because you're busy checking whether your bag is zipped or wondering if you forgot to answer an email. Then when you do notice somebody looking, I know you assume there must be another reason. There usually isn't. You're beautiful. I know you're already rolling your eyes because the second somebody calls you beautiful, you start looking for a way to argue with them, but I'm not asking you to agree with me tonight.

I have time later for that.

You looked directly at me today, by the way. That's all I'm telling you. There was no thunder, no instinct and certainly didn't seem like there was a useful little horror-movie shiver down your spine. Your eyes passed over my face and moved on because I looked like somebody who belonged in the ordinary world around you. I expected to hate that. Instead it felt strangely intimate, being close enough to hear you mutter at your phone while you had no idea the man you were looking for was already there.

Can you believe it? One of those ordinary men you saw today was me. Enjoy ruining your own week with that information. I'll give you one more thing before I go. Yesterday I told you I liked your mouth. Today I caught myself wondering how your face would change if I said that while standing right in front of you instead of hiding behind paper. Would you blush? Would you tell me to fuck off? I'm hoping for both, if I'm honest. Goodnight, beautiful.

Still your admirer.

P.S. Your friend is going to start using the word stalker very soon. Try not to look guilty when she asks whether you kept the letters. You're terrible at looking completely innocent.