Page 12 of Stalked By the Alphas

11

HAZEL

With a smile that I genuinely feel for the first time in what feels like forever, I push open the door to the bookshop.

Mrs Lewis looks up from her reading and grins. “How was it?”

As much as I try, I can’t quite hide my pleased expression. “It was nice. Ayden seems like a good guy.”

“Just nice?” Mrs Lewis presses, raising an eyebrow. “That handsome alpha swept in to rescue you, and all you can say is ‘nice’?”

I feel my cheeks flush. “All right, it was more than nice. He’s charming, intelligent, and...” I trail off, remembering the way Ayden’s blue eyes had sparkled when he laughed.

“And?” Mrs Lewis prompts eagerly.

I shake my head, trying to clear it. “And nothing. I barely know him. It was just tea.”

Mrs Lewis clucks her tongue disapprovingly. “Don’t let a good one slip away, dear. Not all alphas are like that Rob fellow.”

A pang of unease goes through me at the mention of Rob. His strange behaviour earlier still bothers me. What had he been trying to tell me?

“Speaking of,” I say, glancing around the shop, “did Rob come back while I was gone?”

Mrs Lewis shakes her head. “Not a peep. Good riddance, I say.”

I nod, trying to shake off the lingering unease. “You’re probably right. Thanks for watching the shop, Mrs Lewis.”

“Any time, dear,” she says, gathering her things. “Since my Joe passed, I’ve been a bit lost. I don’t know what to do with myself… if you ever need someone to watch the shop, I’m happy to do so.”

She gives me a look that shows me she hates to ask but feels she has to for her own sanity. I get that. More than she will probably ever know.

“You know what,” I say brightly. “I was thinking, with summer coming along, to open up for a few hours on Sundays. How does that sound?”

Her face lights up. “I’d love that!” She comes over to me and grips my hands, tears pricking her eyes. “Thank you, Hazel. I hated to ask, but this has been the most fun I’ve had in over a year.”

I squeeze her hands. “Well, I’m glad you did. It will save me from having to drag my arse out seven days a week. ”

She frowns. “I could do the Saturday half-day as well if you wanted more time off?”

She raises it as a question, and honestly, I could kiss her right now. “Is that something you would like? I don’t want to take advantage.”

“I’m asking you, child,” she says with a huff. “If anything, it’s the other way around.”

Laughing, I shake my head. “You definitely aren’t taking advantage. I would love it if you would work the Saturday half day as well. We can discuss pay after you’ve had a think about what you would expect, and I’ll do the same.”

“That is fair,” she says with a decisive nod. “Thank you.”

“Thank you . I feel this is going to be a mutually beneficial arrangement.” Already I’m dreaming of Saturday morning in bed.

“I will see you tomorrow then,” she says. “Have a good day and give that alpha a chance, hmm? He seems nice, and you are such a lovely girl. You deserve better than that Rob character.”

“Maybe,” I murmur and wave her off.

Once alone, I lean against the counter, lost in thought. Tea with Ayden had been lovely. He was charming, attentive, and seemed genuinely interested in me and my work. But a nagging voice in the back of my mind warns me to be cautious. After everything that’s happened lately, can I really trust this seemingly perfect alpha who appeared out of nowhere?

But that reminds me of something I need to do. I check the time and chew my lip, but if I want to make it to Penny’s Fabrics before she closes for the day, I’ll have to close up early again. I gather my things, and with a gulp, I shove the purple envelope with the card and photo stashed inside my bag. I think I need to take this to the police. Try as I might, I can’t ignore it and carry on as if nothing has happened.

Locking up, I stroll down the hot street, crossing over to the other side as a big, fancy black Range Rover comes rolling down the high street, looking as out of place as if it were a limo. The windows are tinted, which gives me a creepy feeling, but the tingle on the back of my neck is what gives me goosebumps. I stop to watch it pass, not being able to see who the driver is. Eyes narrowed, I see it turn at the end of the road, and then it’s gone from sight.

Who was that?

Shrugging, I start walking again and then pause at the end of the alley by the newsagent’s. This is a shortcut to Penny’s, situated off the high street down a small side road. My palms start to sweat, and I shake my head. I’m being ridiculous. No one is going to jump out at me in broad daylight with people all around.

I hope .

Taking a deep breath, I step into the alley.

The narrow alley is dim and cool after the bright sunlight of the main street. My footsteps echo off the brick walls as I hurry down the passageway, eager to reach the other side. A faint scuffling noise behind me makes me freeze .

I whirl around, my heart pounding, but the alley behind me is empty. I let out a shaky breath, berating myself for being so jumpy. It was probably just a cat.

“Get a grip, Hazel,” I mutter, shaking my head. But all of a sudden, I feel like I’m being watched.

I turn back and practically jog the rest of the way, emerging onto the side street with relief. Penny’s Fabrics is just ahead, its cheerful window display a welcome sight. As I reach for the door handle, movement in the reflection catches my eye.

A tall figure in dark clothing and a white mask covering his face stands at the mouth of the alley I just exited, watching me. My breath catches, but then he’s gone as quickly as he appeared, making me question whether I saw him at all or if it was just my overactive imagination.

Hands shaking, I yank open the door and hurry inside the shop.

“Hazel! What a lovely surprise,” Penny calls from behind the counter. Her smile fades as she takes in my pale face.

I force a smile, trying to calm my nerves. “Hi, Penny. I wonder if you could cut me a panel of voile, and do you have those telescopic poles to put it up in a bedroom window?”

Penny nods and gets to work. I give her the estimated size, which I remember from when I bought the curtains. I was being silly not putting anything in that window, but the view was just too pretty to obstruct. Now, it is a necessity if people are peeking in at me .

Penny bustles about, gathering the materials I requested. As she measures and cuts the fabric, I try to shake off the lingering unease from my walk here.

“There you are,” Penny says, handing me the neatly folded voile and telescopic pole.

“Thanks, Penny.”

As I pay, Penny gives me a concerned look. “Everything okay?”

I hesitate, debating whether to confide in her. But the memory of that masked man in the alley makes me hold back. I can’t even be sure I really saw him. “I’m fine. Just tired, I suppose. Thank you for this,” I say, holding up my purchases.

Penny nods, though she doesn’t look entirely convinced.

I smile and head out, my eyes darting nervously up and down the street. There’s no sign of the masked man, but I can’t shake the feeling of being watched. I hurry back towards the high street, opting for the longer but more populated route this time.

As I walk, my mind races. I’m being ridiculous. There is no way a masked man could have just disappeared from my sight. I look over my shoulder at the alley and shudder. I can’t see into it from here with the sun positioned where it is. If he had stepped back into the dimness, maybe he was there, and I just wouldn’t have seen him.

I clutch my purchases tightly as I hurry down the busy high street. I’m so focused on getting home that I almost miss the police station as I pass it .

Pausing, I chew my lip as I debate whether to go in. Part of me wants to brush everything off as paranoia, but another part knows this card and photo exist.

Taking a deep breath, I push open the door to the station. A bored-looking officer glances up from his desk.

“Can I help you?” he asks.

I hesitate, suddenly feeling foolish. But I’ve come this far. “I... I’d like to report some suspicious activity,” I say.

The officer nods, gesturing for me to take a seat. As I sit, I pull out the envelope from my bag with trembling hands.

“Someone left these for me,” I explain, sliding it across the desk. “And there have been other things too - I think someone might be watching me.”

The officer picks up the envelope and flips the flaps open. He then reaches in and pulls out the card, turning it over and over again. “What is meant to be?” he asks, holding it up.

I blink. “What?” I ask and snatch it from him. It’s a blank white card. I take the envelope with a frown and peer inside. It’s empty. “What?” I murmur to myself. “I—I’m sorry,” I stammer to the officer. “I must’ve made a mistake.”

Clutching the blank card and envelope, I back out of the station, my heart thundering. My mouth has gone dry, and my anxiety has spiked to a dangerous level. My lungs feel like they are being squeezed as I struggle to take a breath .

Panic claws at my throat as I hurry down the street, desperate to get home. My eyes dart around frantically, convinced I’ll see that masked figure again. But the streets are normal - people going about their day, oblivious to my confusion and impending meltdown.

By the time I reach my cottage, I’m nearly hyperventilating. I fumble with my keys, dropping them twice before managing to unlock the door. Once inside, I slam it shut and lean against it, sliding down to sit on the floor, kicking the cam-bear further down the hallway.

“This isn’t happening,” I whisper, clutching the blank card. “I’m not going crazy.”

But aren’t I? The evidence points to the contrary. There was no masked magician card, no photo. Just this blank piece of paper I’ve apparently imagined into something sinister.

I force myself to take deep breaths, trying to calm my racing heart. Think, Hazel. Think rationally.

Could someone have switched the contents of the envelope? But when? It was in the bookshop and the only person who has been behind the counter is Mrs Lewis. Even in this state, I can’t believe that the nearly seventy-year-old woman is behind some plot to make me lose my mind.

“Get it together, Hazel,” I mutter to myself. “You’re not going crazy.”

But even as I say the words, doubt creeps in. What if I am? What if all of this is just my mind playing tricks on me?

I shake my head, trying to clear it. But it’s like a fog has dropped over my brain. I fumble in my bag for my tablets and stagger to my feet. When I reach the kitchen, I open the fridge warily, but see all the bottles neatly stacked, labels facing outwards as they are supposed to be. I grab one and uncap it, swallowing the tablets with a large gulp. My hands are shaking so much, I slosh water all down my front, but I barely feel the cold. I take two more tablets and barely make it to the stairs. I crawl up them, leaving the water halfway up as I fight back the sob that is trying to choke me. My throat closes up as I reach the top, and I flail as I can’t breathe. I can’t see. I scramble for breath and bang my head on the wall. Then, nothing.