Goldie Locks: Steamy Standalone Instalove Romance

Old Mrs. Peterson screws up her face, deep in thought before she points a finger at me.

“You. Pretending to be a locksmith,” she snaps, clicking her tongue. But I laugh it off.

“I am a locksmith,” I assure her. “Among other things. I’m also worried that Phoebe might be in some kind of trouble that she won’t talk about,” I suggest.

But the old woman frowns and shakes her head. “If anyone who shouldn’t be here comes into my building, I know about,” she announces with conviction, tapping her own chest.

“Up until recently she paid her rent, went to work, and came home like clockwork. She walks her little dog and we never hear a peep out of either of them,” she tells me.

“Until recently?” I ask, and the old woman looks thoughtful. Almost concerned.

“There were a few times, now that I think about it. I think I might have heard her calling out to be left alone, but I thought it might be her television, ya know,” she says, not sounding convincing.

“I thought you just said you never heard a peep from her or her little dog, now she’s calling out telling someone to leave her alone?” I ask, not hiding the frustration in my own voice.

“We’ve never had any real trouble here, Mr. Bear. And we don’t want any either,” she almost shouts.

“I’ve given you your receipt and I hope Phoebe can make her rent on time from now on, without you or anyone else bothering her. Now goodbye,” she says with finality, pointing me to the door.

I’ve got no problem leaving the old woman alone. It’s Phoebe I’m worried about now, and walking down the hallway I finger the yellow envelope I slipped in my pocket earlier.

It’s her mail. I can’t open it.

Exhaling through my nose, I stop in the hall and take it out.

No address. No stamp. It’s a blank yellow envelope.

But it’s none of my business either. If Phoebe wants help I’m sure she’d-

Oops. Butterfingers, the Damn thing tore itself open. Just like that.

I’m no detective, but I know a threatening note when I see one. Even though this is my first time.

Yellow legal pad, blank envelope, with some neatly cut out letters from a magazine spelling just one word. Soon.

Folded twice with the word in the center of the page. Whoever did this has done it before and knows their way around stationary.

Who folds a letter to perfectly fit an envelope every time?

I don’t like it, and I can see now why Phoebe is spooked. Why she wouldn’t want to talk to anyone about it.

But I’m not just anyone.

I know what we felt between us, and I’m not gonna walk away from this or from Phoebe.

My first instinct is to go back to her, to confront her with what I’ve found out, and have her tell me everything. But I remember how worried she looked, how tired she is and how determined she is to go to her job.

To earn money to pay me back.

It makes me smile.

There’s nothing she will want for ever again if she’ll just let me look after her the way she deserves, but I know that’ll take some time for her to get used to.

How long? That’s up to her, and not too long I hope. Just the thought of her has me barring up in my pants, something I haven’t had to deal with since I was a teenager.

But more than that, it’s the thought of having her by my side. Being there for somebody 24/7. Spoiling them and starting a family of our own.

Not something I could bring up on the first day after I insist she tells me who’s behind these mysterious notes. I know it’s not the first one.

But I’ll have to be patient. All I can do now is watch over her and her baby, gather what information I can and be there when she needs me.

Hanging around by her front door or even in her building won’t work. If whoever’s leaving these notes comes back, I want to be someplace I can watch her from without being seen.

I head back down the street and notice, as luck would have it, a building opposite with a second floor office for lease.

It should give me the perfect view of Phoebe’s building and the alley that leads to the back. I’ll be able to see everyone who’s coming in or out.

I give the agent a quick call, but she won’t be able to come out until Monday, would I like to book a time?

“Sure,” I tell her, asking if it’s okay if I have a peek through the glass doors before then.

No problem.

I make my way up to the empty floor and wouldn’t you know it, the door seems to have been left unlocked.

That’ll be my story if anyone else comes snooping.