|CHASING VERONICA|

|CHAPTER SEVEN|

[Aston’s POV]

The morning started the same way it always did—late and groggy. He sat up on his bed, legs straight, staring out his open window, the curtains slightly pushed back due to the winds. The cold air collects at the bottom of the room. He didn’t bother wearing shirts; he was used to the temperatures of this city. His eyes closed again as he plopped back on bed taking some more time to wake up completely.

He wasn’t a morning person, never had been. Running a club meant his nights stretched into the early hours, with the music still thrumming in his chest long after the doors closed. By the time sunlight crept into his room, filtered through blackout curtains, it was already close to noon.

The light ‘ding’ on his room call phone caught his attention. The breakfast was done. But he didnt open his eyes for another fifteen minutes.

He stirred awake yet again, groaning as his phone buzzed incessantly on the nightstand. The dreaded, ‘waking before his alarm’ made him throat that phone across his bed. Swiping at it without looking, he silenced the alarm and swung his legs over the edge of the bed. His body protested—a dull ache in his shoulders and back from hours spent bent over his bike the previous night.

The bike was his escape, his obsession. It had been his dad’s, a hulking black machine with chrome accents that gleamed like a weapon in the right light. After his father’s death, it became more than a ride; it was a connection, a piece of history he couldn’t let go of.

The day ahead was unremarkable—bank errands, inventory checks at the club, and maybe catching up with an old friend who’d just rolled into town.

“Are you coming or nah?” Checking his watch before answering with a soft yes, Aston walked out the back doors of his club and towards his bike.

“Alright then, the back lane of that red brick building, By six or something.”

“What red building?” Aston’s question earned a groan from his friend.

“The cross section before 3rd Block street, I think there is a cafe-”

“Got it” He said earning a ‘okay’ on his line and hanging up.

It was early evening by the time he parked his bike near the café. He wasn’t planning on staying long. Jason, an old racing buddy, had promised to meet him there to catch up. But Jason was late, as usual. He didn’t care though. Getting off his bike and looking around at the slightly busy street ahead, he texted Jason of his arrival and gave a sigh.

Leaning against his bike, he glanced around, taking in the scene. The thrift shop across the street caught his attention—not for its wares but because he could see people moving inside. The mundane motions of sorting through clothes and chatting with the shop owner felt oddly grounding.

He hadn’t intended to notice her.

At first, she was just another face behind the counter. But something about the way she moved, looked caught his eye. She wasn’t just working; she was engaged, her attention shifting between customers and the objects she handled. Black hair, half clipped back, small pretty face, her top, the way she talked.

He found himself lingering, watching as she tucked a strand of hair behind her ear, her lips quirking up at something the shop owner said. She wasn’t conventionally beautiful, not in the way he’d been taught to notice, but there was something captivating about her presence.

Jason’s text broke his focus: "Running late, 15 mins."

Frowning, he pocketed his phone and looked back toward the shop. She wasn’t at the counter anymore. For a moment, he felt something strange—disappointment? It was ridiculous.

He decided to wait, wait until she came back and stood behind the counter, grabbing a book and flipping through some pages before her eyes lifted up. He knew she looked right at him, he knew she saw him staring at her even with his tinted black helmet on. Her eyes fall back on the book but looked back at him. He smirked, amused.

It was sad the traget was her. He knew what he would be doing. If she just never looked back at him.

Running the club was a job he didn’t ask for but had grown to tolerate. It wasn’t about the money—there was plenty of that. It was about legacy, or maybe guilt. His father had built it from nothing, pouring his life into it. Walking away had never been an option.

Most nights, he felt like a ghost in his own life. The people who frequented the club didn’t know him, not really. To them, he was just the guy who made things run smoothly, who nodded at the bartenders and ensured the music didn’t stop.

Sometimes, though, he longed for something quieter. A Change She reappeared at the counter, and this time, he couldn’t look away.

Seeing Jason’s bike from a distance he adjusted his gloves and got back on his bike. Mentally noting the name of that thrift shop before setting off.

“We taking the free way?”

“Ya,” he said. They exchanged the usual pleasantries waiting for the signal to turn green—Jason talking about the racing circuit, the bikes he’d seen, and the money he was making. But his mind kept drifting back to the shop.

The next day, Aston decided to quench his desire and give in, wanting to see that woman again, he dropped a subtle hint of wanting to grab something to eat before setting off for their ride.

When Jason suggested they grab coffee, he didn’t object, going to the cafe right across that thrift shop and though he pretended not to, his eyes sought her out through the window.

Inside the café, Jason droned on, but his attention remained fixed on the thrift store. He sipped his coffee slowly, stretching out the time until she looked up.

And then she did.

For a brief second, their eyes met through the glass. He didn’t flinch, didn’t look away. But she did, her head ducking quickly as if embarrassed.

That moment stuck with him longer than he wanted to admit.

By the time Jason left, the sun had dipped below the horizon. He lingered outside the shop, helmet in hand, unsure what had compelled him to stay. The lights in the thrift store went out one by one, and he caught a glimpse of her locking the door, a bag slung over her shoulder.

She walked briskly, her steps purposeful, but she glanced back once.

He followed at a distance, telling himself it was nothing—just curiosity. The city streets grew quieter as she turned a corner. For a moment, he debated stopping, turning back. But something kept pulling him forward. He contemplated before pulling his bike out the stree parking and slowly moving forward to the road she took.

When she disappeared into a building, he stopped under the tree outside. He felt ridiculous standing there, a grown man loitering on a quiet street like a kid who didn’t know what to do with himself. The building she entered faced the street. Quite neighbourhood, the faint light of a store a few meters down and the street lights were the only source of illumination over that area.

The light in her window flickered on, and he caught the faintest shadow of her moving behind the curtains. She paused, and for a second, he thought she might look outside.

But she didn’t.

He stayed longer than he should have, leaning against the tree, his bike engine cooling behind him. When he finally left, it wasn’t because he wanted to.

It was because he knew he would come back.