His Secret Admirer

Chapter 1-2

The most recent note said, ‘you make people feel special when you serve them with that smile of yours. it’s what makes you special.’

Jim put it back in the envelope, stuffing it in his pocket. It was the fifth one he’d gotten in just over five weeks—all of them showing up on Saturday mornings. He’d saved the last three. Not because he cherished them. Nothing could have been farther from the truth. It worried him that some girl, or woman, seemed to have fixated on him. Tom and Mazie are right, it has to be a female. No man would pull something like this. He supposed that wasn’t necessarily true. A man could be too shy to come on to him personally, he guessed. Either way, he’d decided to keep the most recent notes, in case whoever was leaving them intended on escalating things—and not in a good way. If that happened, he’d at least have some evidence to show the police.

When his shift ended at two, he went home. Callie, the mixed-breed stray cat he’d adopted, greeted him at the front door as if he’d been gone forever. He laughed, picking her up to pet her. “I take it your food bowl is half empty, meaning truly empty as far as you’re concerned.” Setting her down, he went to top it off with more dry food, then headed to the bedroom to change into jeans and a T-shirt. He hung up his work slacks, remembering at the last second to retrieve the note from the pocket. After reading it again, he stuffed it in the top drawer of his dresser with the others before returning to the living room.

“Not today, Callie,” Jim said, lifting her off his desk chair. “I have work to do.”

She looked as if she was going to debate that, then strolled across the room to settle in the corner of the sofa.

Taking a drawing pad from a desk drawer, Jim opened it to the sketch he’d been working on for one of the costumes for the upcoming show at the Onyx, where he worked during the week. He studied it for a minute, shook his head, and made a couple of changes. “That works better. Let’s just hope his majesty agrees. His majesty was Ken, the show’s director, a man in his mid-fifties who had been with the theater well before Jim had joined the company. Generally calm and collected, Ken had his moments when he went the other direction. “Like when I show him my designs,” Jim grumbled under his breath. They seemed to butt heads at least a couple of times for each show—if not more. In the end, they’d come to an agreement, generally with Ken grudgingly telling Jim that his designs were excellent, “as always.”

It was getting dark when Jim eventually came up for air. He had added colors to the designs, making notes at the bottom of each one on what fabrics he’d had in mind to use for the costume, from the supply he had at hand at the theater. He’d cut swatches Tuesday morning, before showing Ken what he’d come up with.

“Eight? Already? No wonder I’m hungry.” He went into the kitchen to see what he could make to eat. Nothing appealed to him, even though he’d gone grocery shopping only two days earlier and had plenty to choose from.

Callie had trailed after him, and now sat by her bowl, staring mournfully up at him. He opened a can of wet food, scooped it into her dish, then went to change into a T-shirt that didn’t look as if he’d owned it since before the turn of the century. With that done, he put his wallet and keys in his pockets and then left the apartment, making certain the door had locked behind him.

“So, what do I feel like?” he asked himself when he was in his car. After a moment’s thought, he decided on Laterza’s, his favorite Italian restaurant, which was about five blocks away. Maybe I should walk, to work off what I’m going to eat. Hell, why not? Getting out of the car, he set off on foot, enjoying the cool September evening.

“You live,” Beth, the hostess, said when he entered the restaurant.

Jim laughed. “I do, and I’m starving.”

“Then you came to the right place.” She grinned, then escorted him to a table for two along the side wall of the main dining room, handing him a menu. When the waitress came over, Jim asked for a glass of red house wine, and an order of lasagna with a salad on the side. She came back quickly with the wine, and while he sipped it, he watched the other people—mostly couples in twos or fours, with a smattering of singles.

One man caught Jim’s eye because he looked seriously lonely. His thin shoulders were slumped as he stared at the book he was reading, holding it in one hand while he ate with the other. Every once in a while he’d glance up when laughter or loud conversation from another table caught his attention, looking longingly at the people involved. Then he’d push his glasses back up on his nose and return to his reading, looking even lonelier.

Jim felt sorry for him, not that he’d do anything about it. He wasn’t the kind of guy who willingly introduced himself to someone he didn’t know—except when he was waiting tables. Then, it came naturally as part of the job.

By the time his dinner arrived, the guy Jim had been covertly watching was finished with his. He flagged down the waitress, paid, then left the restaurant. At least Jim presumed he had, since he didn’t see him leave. He was too busy eating his own meal, which was as good as he remembered from previous visits.

Now what to do? Jim leaned back while he waited for his check, sipping the coffee he’d ordered in lieu of dessert. The waitress returned to give it to him, at which point, after giving the bill a quick glance, he handed her his credit card.

When she came back with the credit card slip for him to sign, a few minutes later, she said, “This is for you. Beth says someone left it at the hostess stand.”

What the hell? She was holding an envelope with his name printed on the front, all lower case, just as it had been with the one’s that had been left where he worked. Jim thanked her and signed the slip, waiting for her to leave before opening the envelope. The note inside was handwritten as always, with no capitalization. It said, ‘he looked sad, didn’t he? if he saw your smile it would have cheered him up.’

What is with you and my smile? And who the hell are you? Jim looked at everyone still seated in the restaurant, although he was dead certain his message sender would be long gone by now. Getting up, he strode over to the hostess stand. “Did you see who left this?” he asked Beth, showing her the envelope.

“No. It showed up while I was seating some people. Since I know you, I gave it to Josie to give to you.” She must have read his expression of apprehension because she asked, “Is there a problem, Jim?”

“No. Thanks for asking. I’m just pissed that Mary—” he pulled the name out of a hat, “—left it instead of coming over to say ‘Hi’. I guess she’s still upset with me.”

“Send her flowers,” the hostess replied, patting his arm. “That always works for me.”

“Great idea. I will.” If Mary existed. Jim shoved the envelope in his pocket then took off. It’s bad enough that whoever’s doing this is leaving notes at work, but now this? Who the hell are you and why don’t you show your face?

* * * *

How could I have been so stupid? Mental hand-wringing accompanied that thought, followed by a deep sigh. I’m not in his class. I’m nowhere near it. He’s so handsome, so sweet, so nice to people, like he owns the world but doesn’t expect people to treat him as any one special.

How did we end up in the same restaurant at the same time, tonight? Why did I write him that note? If he saw me there and remembered me…But he wouldn’t have. I’m just the person hiding in the back corner at Bannock’s, eating breakfast with my nose buried in my reading. Not even close to the section he works. I wouldn’t have the nerve to sit where he would be my waiter.

This is insane. Take a chance. Talk to him. What’s the worst that could happen? He smiles nicely and then ignores me the next time he sees me, like I don’t exist? Which I don’t, to someone like him. Tall, dark, and handsome men like him don’t pay attention to someone like me. They never have. So get a grip and stop acting like a crazy stalker. Because I’m not! I only want him to smile at me, to notice me, just once. To see me. But that’s not going to happen, so deal. And for the love of God, stop going by Bannock’s. There’s plenty of other places to eat breakfast. Plenty.