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“Midnight Confessions”

Didi

I woke to the scent of coffee and the unfamiliar touch of worn cotton sheets against my naked skin.

Sunlight filtered through half-drawn curtains, casting golden stripes across an unfamiliar room.

For a disorienting moment, I couldn't place where I was.

Then the memories flooded back—Noah's rescue from my sweltering cabin, moonlit skinny dipping, his mouth on every inch of my body, the way he'd filled me so completely as we moved together on the lakeshore.

A flush of heat rose to my cheeks as snippets from the night replayed in vivid detail. I stretched languidly, my body pleasantly sore in ways that spoke of thorough satisfaction.

Noah's side of the bed was empty, the sheets cool to the touch. I slipped from beneath the covers, borrowing his discarded t-shirt from the floor. It hung to mid-thigh, swimming on my frame but carrying his scent—which instantly caused my stomach to flutter.

I followed the aroma of coffee and bacon down the hallway, pausing at the threshold of his kitchen.

Noah stood at the stove, his back to me, wearing nothing but low-slung shorts.

Morning sunlight accentuated the defined muscles of his shoulders and back, calling to mind the way those muscles had flexed above me last night.

As if sensing my presence, he turned, a slow smile spreading across his face when he saw me in his shirt.

"Morning Beautiful," he said, voice still rough with sleep. "Coffee?"

"God, yes," I replied, padding across the cool hardwood floors. "I'm useless without caffeine."

He poured me a mug, sliding it across the counter.

Our fingers brushed during the exchange, and even that simple touch sent sparks skittering up my arm.

After last night, I shouldn't be reacting like this to casual contact, but the morning-after domesticity felt even more intimate than our naked encounter in the lake.

"Sleep okay?" he asked, turning back to the stove where he was flipping pancakes.

"Better than I have in months," I admitted, settling onto a barstool at the counter. "Though I'm not sure how much of that was actual sleep versus... other activities."

His chuckle was low and warm. "No complaints here."

This was the part that should be awkward—the morning after an impulsive hookup—but it wasn't. There was an unexpected comfort between us that defied our brief acquaintance.

Three days ago, Noah Sterling had been a stranger rescuing me from Miller's Rocks.

Now, I was drinking coffee in his kitchen wearing nothing but his t-shirt after a night of mind-blowing sex.

"You cook too," I observed, watching him plate perfectly golden pancakes. "Is there anything you're not good at?"

"Emotional vulnerability," he replied with surprising candor, then quirked an eyebrow. "And origami. Never got the hang of it."

I laughed, grateful for the moment of levity that eased the morning-after tension. "Well, I'm terrible at cooking, fishing, boating, and apparently choosing stable men, so you're ahead of the game."

Something flickered in his eyes at my self-deprecating comment, but he simply slid a plate in front of me. "Eat. You'll need your strength."

"Planning a repeat performance, Detective?" I teased, the memory of last night sending another wave of heat through me.

"Planning to fix your air conditioner," he corrected, though his darkening eyes suggested he wasn't opposed to my interpretation. "But I'm open to multitasking."

We ate at the counter, knees occasionally brushing, the casual domesticity punctuated by loaded glances that promised more.

Noah asked about my preferred coffee (strong, with just a splash of cream), whether I was a morning person (decidedly not), and if I had any food allergies he should know about (none, though I don’t particularly care for mushrooms).

Simple questions that carried unexpected weight.

"So," he began, clearing our empty plates, "about last night—"

My phone rang from somewhere in the living room, interrupting whatever he'd been about to say. I recognized Jamie's ringtone instantly.

"Sorry, I should get that," I said, sliding off the stool. "It's work."

Noah nodded, understanding. "Take your time."

I found my phone in my overnight bag and answered, turning away from Noah's curious gaze. "Hey, Jamie, what's up?"

"Where the hell have you been?" Jamie demanded, her voice pitched higher with anxiety. "I've been texting you for hours!"

I glanced at the screen, noticing a string of missed texts. "Sorry, I... my phone was on silent."

"Are you okay? You sound weird." Her producer's intuition was too sharp by half.

"I'm fine," I assured her, though I couldn't suppress the slight breathlessness in my voice. "What's going on?"

"The stalker, Didi. He posted again last night."

My stomach dropped. "What did he say?"

"He wrote this creepy poem about following a star to a mountain lake. Said something about how 'even in Montana, I'll find my Midnight Star.'"

The room tilted slightly. I gripped the back of the couch for support. "Montana? He specifically said Montana?"

"Yes. Didi, I think he knows where you are."

The blood drained from my face. All the safety I'd felt moments ago evaporated. "How? I've been so careful."

"I don't know. Maybe he tracked your credit card purchases? Or he could have followed me? I'm so sorry, Didi, I've been so careful, but—"

"It's not your fault," I cut her off, trying to keep my voice steady. "We knew he was persistent."

"There's more," Jamie continued, her voice dropping lower.

"Officer Vincetti called from Chicago PD.

They think they've identified him from security footage at the station.

His name is Preston Barrett. He's a marketing executive, mid-thirties.

They're watching his apartment, but Didi. .. he hasn't been home in days."

The room seemed to shrink around me. Preston Barrett. My stalker had a name now, a face, an identity. That made him more real and more terrifying.

"What should I do?" I asked, hating how small my voice sounded.

"Vincetti suggests you contact local law enforcement. If this guy really is heading to Montana, they need to be aware."

I turned slightly, catching Noah's concerned gaze from the kitchen. A detective. Right here.

"I'll handle it," I said with more confidence than I felt. "Keep me posted if you hear anything else."

"Didi?" Jamie's voice softened. "Be careful, okay? This guy sounds unstable."

"I will."

I ended the call, my hand trembling slightly as I set the phone down. When I turned back, Noah was watching me intently, his detective's instincts clearly engaged.

"Everything okay?" he asked, though his expression said he already knew it wasn't.

I opened my mouth to deflect, to offer some vague reassurance as I had before. But the weight of Jamie's news pressed down on me, and suddenly, I couldn't maintain the pretense anymore. Not after what we'd shared last night. Not when my safety might be at risk.

"No," I answered, voice cracking slightly. "It's not."

Noah was beside me in an instant, guiding me to the couch with a gentle hand at my waist. "Tell me what's happening," he said, his tone balancing professional concern and personal care.

I took a deep breath, the confession I'd been avoiding for days finally spilling out. "I'm not just visiting Hope Peak for vacation. I'm hiding."

His expression didn't change. "I figured as much. From what?"

"A stalker." The word hung in the air between us, heavy with implication. "I'm a radio host in Chicago. 'Late Night with Didi.' It's a call-in show, mostly relationship advice, life stuff. I have a pretty loyal following."

Noah nodded, encouraging me to continue.

"About three months ago, I started getting messages from a listener who called himself 'ChicagoNightOwl.

' At first, it was just fan mail—compliments about the show, that sort of thing.

Then it escalated. Gifts at the station.

Detailed accounts of what I'd worn that day.

Photos of me entering my apartment building. "

Noah's jaw tightened, but he remained silent, letting me tell the story at my own pace.

"The Chicago police couldn't do much. He was careful, always staying just on the right side of legal. Then last month, security cameras caught someone trying to get into my apartment building. He ran when confronted, but... it scared me enough that the station suggested I take some time off."

I wrapped my arms around myself, feeling suddenly vulnerable in just Noah's t-shirt. "Jamie—my producer and best friend—helped me arrange this. The lake cabin, working remotely. Nobody knew where I went except her and my station manager."

I reached for my phone, pulling up the messages Jamie had been sending me about ChicagoNightOwl's posts. "But now... Jamie just called to tell me that he's figured out I'm in Montana. He posted online about following me to a mountain lake."

I handed Noah my phone, letting him read Jamie's frantic texts detailing the stalker's recent activity. His eyes narrowed as he scrolled through the messages.

"The Chicago PD identified him," I continued. "Preston Barrett. He's a marketing executive. They've been watching his apartment, but he hasn't been there for days."

Noah set the phone down, his expression darkening. "You should have told me this sooner, Didi."

"I know," I said, unable to meet his eyes. "I was embarrassed. And scared. And I thought I could handle it myself. Being here, it felt like I could pretend it wasn't happening."

"Look at me," he said gently, waiting until I raised my eyes to his. "You have nothing to be embarrassed about. This isn't your fault."

His understanding cracked something open inside me. Tears I'd been holding back for months suddenly spilled over. Noah pulled me close, his arms encircling me with steady warmth.