Stakeout

I stood in the bedroom doorway for a moment, watching Emily at her vanity. She was seated in front of the mirror, leaning close to the glass, a small brush in her hand as she carefully applied something to her eyelids. A top and skirt combination I didn't recognize was laid out on the bed behind her, tags still attached. New. She must have bought them during the week without mentioning it.

"Decided I'll go out too," I said, crossing to the wardrobe and grabbing a pair of jeans and a t-shirt. Emily just nodded gently, a soft smile flickering across her reflection.

I dressed quickly, pulling on the first socks I found, running a hand through my hair. I looked at her, still seated, still painting herself with careful precision. I walked over, leaned down, and kissed the top of her head.

"Love you," I murmured.

"Love you too, babe," she said, her voice light and automatic. "Have fun."

I left.

The walk to The Daily Grind was about fifteen minutes, long enough for my nerves to coil tight in my stomach. My hands were shoved in my pockets, my shoulders hunched against the cool morning air. Sunday traffic was light. A few dog walkers. A jogger.

I tried to think about what I'd say if I found him.

Excuse me, you cursed my girlfriend and now she's jerking strangers off in movie theaters and drinking my cum in her coffee. Would you mind undoing that?

It sounded insane. It was insane. But something was wrong with Emily, and the only thing that had changed between normal Emily and this Emily was that man. His whisper. The way time had stopped. The way he'd looked at me with those bottomless eyes.

I rounded the corner and saw the green awning. The Daily Grind. The scene of the crime.

I pushed open the door and the bell jingled overhead. The familiar smell hit me - fresh coffee, baked goods, cleaning solution. My eyes swept the room, scanning every face. A student with headphones, hunched over a textbook. An older couple sharing a scone. A woman on her laptop, typing furiously.

No worn-out jacket. No tired, furious eyes.

I felt a strange mix of relief and disappointment as I joined the queue. My gaze kept moving, checking and rechecking, as if the man might materialize from thin air. The line shuffled forward. I ordered a black coffee, paid, waited. My drink appeared. I took it, found an empty table near the window, and sat.

I angled my chair so I could see both the door and the street. Then I waited.

The first hour was agony. My leg bounced under the table. My fingers tapped a staccato rhythm on the ceramic mug. Every time the bell jingled, my head snapped up, my heart lurching. Each time it was a stranger. A teenager. A mother with a toddler. A businessman in a crisp suit.

No one in a worn-out jacket.

I watched the street through the window, studying every pedestrian who passed. A man in a hoodie. A woman with a pushchair. A cyclist. A group of teenagers laughing at something on a phone.

No one who matched the memory burned into my mind.

I finished my coffee. Stared at the empty cup. Got up, queued again, ordered another. Sat back down.

I pulled out my phone. Might as well do something useful while I waited. I opened a news app, scrolled through headlines. Read an article about local politics. Another about a new restaurant opening. A third about a film I'd never heard of.

The bell jingled. I looked up.

Just a woman with a yoga mat.

I went back to my phone.

---

Half the day passed like that. A slow, shuffling crawl of minutes that felt like hours. I read through articles I'd saved and never gotten to. I checked my email. Deleted some spam. Starred a message from work I'd deal with tomorrow.

My stomach rumbled, a low, insistent growl.

I glanced around the coffee shop. Cookies. Muffins. Nothing substantial. Across the street, I spotted a small sandwich shop. A chalkboard sign advertised toasted paninis. A few minutes wouldn’t hurt.

I stood, stretched my stiff legs, and headed out. The bell jingled behind me. I crossed the street, ordered a cheese and ham panini, and waited. A few minutes later, I was back outside, the sandwich warm in my hands, standing on the pavement with my eyes fixed on the coffee shop door.

I ate quickly, barely tasting it, watching. Waiting.

No sign of him.

I finished my sandwich, crumpled the wrapper, and tossed it in a bin. Then I crossed back over and pushed back through the door of The Daily Grind.

My old table was taken now - a woman with a laptop occupied it, her coffee cooling beside her. I scanned for another spot near the window then approached the counter. A barista was wiping down the espresso machine, a young woman with a nose ring and a name tag that read "Jenna."

"Excuse me," I said.

She looked up, friendly but distracted. "What can I get for you?"

"Actually, I was wondering if you could help me with something." I pulled out my phone, though I didn't have a photo. "I'm looking for someone. A man who was in here about a week ago. Wore a worn-out jacket, looked really tired. Kind of intense eyes. He was standing by the sugar station, spilt his coffee."

Jenna's brow furrowed. She thought for a moment, then shook her head. "Sorry, I don't remember anyone like that. We get a lot of customers." An apologetic smile. A shrug.

"Yeah," I said, deflating. "Figured. Can I get a latte?"

She made my drink. I paid. I found my new table near the back, still with a decent view of the door, and sat down.

I felt foolish.

It was a Tuesday morning when we'd run into him. A busy weekday rush. There was no reason to think he'd show up on a lazy Sunday afternoon. For all I knew, he didn't even live in the area. He could have been passing through. A one-time encounter.

But I couldn't bring myself to leave yet.

I pulled out my phone again. Opened Instagram. Scrolled. Then remembered - Emily's new TikTok account. She'd told me about it, shown me a few posts. I opened the app, found her profile, and started scrolling through her day.

The posts had started around mid-morning. The first few were innocent enough. Emily and Mia - I recognized her from the bachelorette video, her partner in crime - posing in front of a shop window. Then trying on outfits in a fitting room. Emily holding a floral dress against herself, pulling a silly face. Mia photobombing in the background.

Then the tone shifted.

A photo taken in a lingerie shop. Emily holding up a sheer babydoll, her grin mischievous. Mia beside her, holding a matching pair of panties between two fingers, eyebrows raised. The caption just read: ""

I scrolled further.

Another shop. This one was different—darker lighting, more adult. The samples on the racks left little to the imagination. Sheer fabric. Cutouts. Crotchless designs that were barely more than straps and lace. Emily holding up a black mesh bodysuit, her expression teasing. Mia giving a thumbs up in the background.

My jaw tightened.

Another post. A close-up of Emily's face, her eyes comically wide, an enormous purple dildo pressed against her cheek, tongue just slightly poking out between her lips. The caption read: "Found my new best friend "

I swiped to the next post. Mia holding up a string of anal beads, the camera catching her in a mock-thoughtful pose, her head tilted, her free hand tapping her chin.

Another swipe. Emily holding a box with a ring gag visible through the clear plastic, her eyebrows raised in exaggerated interest.

Another. A video this time. Mia standing in front of a wall of lubes, picking up a bottle, pretending to read the label, then another, then another, holding one in each hand and looking to the camera with a helpless shrug, as if to say 'which one?'

My phone vibrated. An in-app message bubble came down: new post from Emily.

I tapped to open it up. A photo of a discreet brown paper bag, the handles tied in a neat little bow. The caption: "Some goodies "

I stared at the image, my mind churning. What had she bought? The dildo? The gag? The beads? All of it? The bag wasn’t small, it could have held several items. I leaned back in my chair, the phone still in my hand, my mind spinning.

Then I jumped.

I'd been so absorbed in the screen, so lost in the parade of images and implications, that I'd completely forgotten why I was here. The stakeout. The man.

I looked up, my heart already hammering.

And there he was.

Standing in the queue at the counter, hands in the pockets of a worn-out jacket. Not scanning the room. Not looking for anyone. Just waiting, patient and still, his eyes fixed on the menu board above the barista's head.

Same jacket. Same tired posture. Same dark, unkempt hair.

I’d found him.

My breath caught in my throat. My hands gripped the edge of the table. For a long, frozen moment, I didn't move, didn't breathe, didn't think - just stared at the back of his head, at the frayed collar of his jacket, at the way he rocked slightly on his heels, casual and unhurried. If anything, he looked more tired than last time.

I didn't know what I was going to say. I didn't know what I was going to do. But I was on my feet before I'd made a conscious decision to move, my chair scraping against the floor, my eyes locked on my target.