A loud, piercing noise jolts me awake and upright, and my body immediately goes rigid. I clamp my hands over my ears, muffling the noise as my eyes adjust to the dark room around me. I’m alone, Reese’s side of the bed is completely untouched, and it takes me several seconds to realize what’s happening. That noise. I haven’t heard it before but I know what it is. My shop alarm is going off, and I need to enter the code to stop it. I slide off the bed and run toward the stairs but freeze when my mind draws a conclusion to the reasoning behind the alarm.

Someone’s trying to break in.

I drop to my knees beside the bed and grab the baseball bat I’ve kept there since that psycho bitch threw a brick at my window last summer. Nobody messes with my business, and I am seriously prepared to do damage with this thing.

I run downstairs, keeping a tight grip on the bat as the noise becomes even louder. I go along the far side of the worktop, trying to see through the doorway as my heart rate jumps to a rapid pace. I can’t make out anything and I need to stop the alarm before my ears begin to bleed. Mustering up every ounce of courage I have and keeping the bat at a ready position, I run through the doorway leading into the main bakery.

And then I see him.

He’s punching in numbers on the keypad, his legs staggering underneath his tall frame, struggling to keep him upright. He stumbles, leaning into the glass window before straightening up again. I drop the bat and step closer, keeping my focus on him.

“Reese?”

He doesn’t hear me over the screeching alarm as his fingers continue to enter incorrect codes. I move quickly, putting my hand on his shoulder and stepping next to him. As I press the correct pattern of numbers, the smell of alcohol permeates my senses. The alarm stops abruptly and silence fills the space between us. I turn my head up, seeing unfamiliar eyes staring back at me. Glassy and dilated, they no longer hold the intensity I’m accustomed to. Even the shade of green seems dulled out, lifeless even. Besides that obvious difference, he’s clearly intoxicated, which is not a look I ever imagined seeing on this man. Reese doesn’t get drunk. He’ll have two, three drinks maybe and then cut himself off. I’ve never even seen him tipsy before. And as he slouches against the wall, his heavy eyelids closing and his head hanging low, I’m finding myself questioning if I was the only one hurting earlier.

“Hey. Are you okay?” I ask, reaching up with a gentle hand. I stroke the side of his face and see him turn into me, pressing his lips against my palm. His breath warms my skin and I feel the uneven rhythm of it, the quick burst and then the shuddering inhale he takes before he drops his head again.

“Need you,” he says through a broken voice.

My heart wrenches in my chest cavity as I stare up at this man who looks defeated and beaten down. And also way too drunk to get behind the wheel. “You didn’t drive here, did you?”

“Cab. My car’s at The Tavern.”

Relief runs through me before I’m startled once again by the sound of the shop phone ringing. I dash over to it to answer, double backing when I think Reese is going to topple over. After he seems steady, I run to the phone.

“Hello?”

“Miss Sparks? This is Lenox Security calling to check to make sure everything is okay. We received an alert that your security system was triggered.”

“Yes. Yes, it was¸ but it was an accident. Everything’s okay.”

“Okay, ma’am, we just wanted to make sure. Have a great night.”

“You, too.”

I hang up the phone, rounding the counter and stepping next to Reese. I lift his arm, draping it around my neck and keeping a firm grip on his wrist. My other arm wraps around his waist and pulls him off the wall. “Come on. Let’s go upstairs.”

Normally when I’m this close to him, I’m relishing in his fresh, citrus scent and setting up camp in the crook of his neck. But right now, he smells like he’s hit up every bar in South Side and for the first time since I met him; the urge to nuzzle him is absent. He maneuvers himself with me across the bakery, but I’m doing most of the work as we make it inch by inch. It’s a slow effort and when I finally lift my head and size up the stairs we’ll have to tackle, my grip on him tightens and a feeling of determination fuels me. I look over at him as I position us at the first step. “You need to help me, okay? It’s not that many steps.”

His lips twitch into a smile before he drops his head to the side, bumping it against mine. “You’re so pretty.”

I chuckle, lurching forward and trying to bring him with me. “Thanks. Come on. Lift your feet.”

“I stare at you sometimes when you don’t see me. I like doing that.”

“Oh, yeah?” I sound surprised, but I’m not. I know Reese stares at me. I always feel his eyes on me when he does it. And I like that game we play, where I pretend I don’t notice and let him watch me. He does the same when I partake in my own obsessive gazing. I know he sees me. His lip will twitch or he’ll coincidentally adjust himself as I’m studying him, drawing my attention off his face.

I’m on to his tactics.

He lifts his left, then his right foot, putting us both on the first step. “I stared at you on my phone tonight. I didn’t really like it.”

We make it a few more steps as he leans further into me, causing me to let go of his wrist and grip the handrail instead. “Yeah? Let’s get you upstairs and then you can tell me why you didn’t like it.”

“I didn’t like it, Dylan.”

“I know. Come on. Just a little more. We’re almost there.” We get two steps away from the door when Reese suddenly drops to his knees, pulling me down with him. “Reese! Hold… what are you doing?”

He turns awkwardly until he’s sitting on the step. His head drops between slouched shoulders, and I see the slight shake of his hands as they hang over his knees. I slide next to him, placing a hand on his thigh. He lifts his head and turns to me, the worry in his eyes evident. “I can’t just stare at pictures of you. It’s not enough.”

“Well, I’m right here. You don’t have to stare at pictures. Let’s go upstairs and you can look at me all you want.” I go to stand when his hand grabs my wrist, halting me.

“I watch you all the time.” I lower myself back down as he drops his gaze, staring off at nothing. “If I’m not touching you, I want to be.”

“I know the feeling,” I interject, gaining his attention immediately.

His face hardens. “No. You don’t.” I open my mouth to argue but stop myself when I see the conviction in his eyes. “It’s constant, Dylan. You invade every thought I have even when they have nothing to do with you. I’m not just in love with you. I’m kind of obsessed. And the thought of somebody else watching you the way I do, or needing to touch you like I do…” He pauses, squeezing his eyes shut. “I’m terrified.”

I scoot closer, crawling into this lap. His eyes open and refocus on mine as I cradle his face in my hands. “He barely touched me. I’d never let him or anyone else put their hands on me the way you do.” He tries to shake his head but I stop him. “You don’t need to be scared. I got him good. And I’ll do worse if he tries it again.”