This is his fifth time coming here in three days. Deevah makes eye contact with me as the glass doors close behind him. The bell rings, announcing his arrival. Shrugging her shoulders, she enters the kitchen to start on his order. He approaches the counter, his dark blue eyes outlined in red looking directly at me as he smiles lightly, almost smirking. He knows what he’s doing. He - Dallas - has really pretty eyes even when they’re bloodshot, but I don’t tell him that - He won’t tip either way. As he creeps closer, warm scents of mahogany and pine waft towards me, drowning out the smell of burnt coffee and sugar.  “The usual?” I ask, starting to type in his order - an americano, no cream, and an egg sandwich on wheat bread. Boring. 

    We go about our normal exchange of ‘how are you’s’ and talk about the weather as he signs and returns the receipt… 0.00 for the tip, and a jagged line for his signature. Asshole. I hurry through the kitchen doors as he sits in the same booth as always; the one with half of the red seat cover ripped off, and a chip in the wooden table. Deevah looks up from the stove as I perch myself on the adjacent countertop. Through the dirty, smudged window I see Dallas run his hands through the mop of black hair on his head, eventually resting his palms on his forehead. 

    “Dude,” she says, just as the toaster pops, making me jump slightly. I’d never get used to that, “How many times is that? Don’t count the two times you’ve literally ran into him in the grocery store. Fae… No normal person comes to a sh*t cafe this much.” I laugh nervously, shrugging my shoulders, but I know exactly how many times he’s been in. Deevah thinks he’s into me, especially when she catches him staring too long at the tattoo of a rose on my forearm. Judging by the fact that somehow he never comes in when it’s just Deevah working, I’m starting to grow suspicious. 

    “I dunno Devan, just don’t burn anything.” She hates it when I call her by her real name, so in response she turns and holds the spatula just inches from my throat, the heat warming my neck. I’ve grown used to her empty handed ‘threats’. 

    “Shut up,” She responds, and goes about making the rest of the order. My head aches  from having my hair up for so long. I impatiently yank the ponytail out, ripping strands of blonde hair with it. I can feel my hair in knots as I try brushing through it with my fingers. Deevah sets the finished order on the counter. “You’re lucky you have straight hair. This is a lot more work,” she gestures to the abundance of dark curls that’s covered by a massive hair net.

    “Yeah, whatever… Am I taking that out to him?” My voice whines, pleading with her to save me. She smirks, then nods, and there’s suddenly a familiar ding - an online order - and Deevah smiles at me, revealing one of her many piercings, this one only apparent when she smiles. 

    “Go get your loverboy” She winks before returning to her work. 

I grab the order off of the counter, making sure it’s not cold, and respond as I make my way through the door, “You know, maybe if he tipped he’d be more attractive,” I hear her e laugh as the door to the kitchen swings shut yet again. 

I set his order on the table, he offered a quiet thanks, his eyes more red than before, but still smirking, saying more than he ever could in words. Sh*t. I think he heard me. 

                                    -   -    -

I don’t really need groceries today, but Deevah said if I grabbed some things for her she’d give me her tips from the day, so I obliged. The closest grocery store to our apartment is walking distance, but today's 7 hour shift has taken a toll on me, so I drove to get here. As I stroll the isles I spot a flash of long, curly, black hair. You’ve got to be kidding me. I strain from rolling my eyes. Dallas is here again, like he has been numerous times before. 

I’m more aware now. My senses heighten as that same scent of mahogany and pine invades my nostrils. I quickly text Deevah, telling her that he’s here again. Instantaneously, I get a response. See what he’s buying… stalk the stalker;) 

I laugh, and put my phone in the too big pocket of my sweatpants. I stroll casually, peering into each isle until I finally spot him. Careful to remain unseen, I observe him. He’s in the same dark clothes as he was earlier, and he’s pushing around a cart filled with none other than hints of a girlfriend, roses, chocolate? What an asshole. 

 Heat rushes to my face. I’m on fire, burning, burning, burning. But it’s a slow burn. I almost get my phone out to text Deevah, but I stop. He’s reaching to grab another thing of chocolate and the shirt that drowns his broad figure shifts, revealing part of a tattoo that stretches across the length of his collarbone - I’ve never noticed it before. A beautiful array of thorny vines carefully decorates his olive skin. My pale, freckled body can’t even compare. 

I snap back to reality as he makes his way to the checkout.I send Deevah a rushed text… groceries will have to wait a bit… he’s on the move. My phone buzzes in response, but Dallas is on his way out the door. I watch him, knowing I shouldn’t follow him. I do anyway. The heat of summer quickly dissipates as the AC hums, coming to life.

 I follow him all the way to the cemetery…

I followed him all the way to the cemetery. Where he proceeds to get out, placing the roses onto a gravestone. Maybe I’m the asshole.