Valentine

Chapter 3: If the Shoe Fits

We approach the club, the pulsating beat of the music reverberating through the air as the door swings open. Skipping to the front of the line, we effortlessly make our way inside, leaving the long queue behind.

Chelsey, my friend and a model, has connections. The club owner, a friend of a friend, ensures we receive VIP treatment. How they orchestrated this remains a mystery to me, but I'm certainly not complaining. Bottles arrive promptly as I settle in, but the music is painfully loud, and I can't shake the feeling of being out of place.

The barely clothed girls here make Maggie look modest, a formidable feat. I can't help but admire their confidence, feeling like a sore thumb in this vibrant crowd. I'm too old and too much of a homebody for this scene.

Maggie catches my eye and hurls a drink my way, fully aware that alcohol is my ticket to relaxation in social settings. Tonight, on my birthday, I decide to let go of my usual reservations.

Downing drinks faster than my friends have ever seen, I find myself on the dance floor. Bodies press in from all sides, transporting me to a different time, a different version of myself. Fuzziness creeps in, and memories of nights I'd rather forget resurface, my chest constricting.

A collision on the dance floor triggers a reflexive flinch. My body tenses, and I fight to slow down my racing thoughts, needing to ground myself before panic takes over. Amidst the chaos, a low voice breaks through.

"Are you okay, love?"

Attempting to nod, I meet his dark eyes, and he looks skeptical. "Do you need some air?" Another nod, and he takes my hand, leading me somewhere. Cautious thoughts flicker, but something about him feels reassuring, his aura radiating safety.

Up a set of steep concrete stairs, we emerge onto a rooftop. The atmosphere transforms – stools line the walls, a few people sit around smoking, and there's decent lighting and quiet music. I take a deep breath, reassured by the change of scenery.

We find a set of stools away from the sparse crowd. He pulls out a pack of cigarettes. "Do you mind? I'm trying to quit, but it's a bitch."

Quietly nodding, I watch him light a cigarette, a sense of familiarity lingering about him. It's shocking how I don't feel the need to fill the silence. The cool air and peace envelop us, yet tension emanates from him.

As he stares into the distance, I admire his soft features, a desire to bring a smile to his face growing within me.

As I turn my head to appreciate the view, he breaks the silence. "You're pretty quiet. Which, if you knew me, you would know I don't often find anyone who speaks less than me."

Turning in shock, I respond, "No way. I get that all the time." His revelation surprises me. "Have you been stalking me? I'm mildly worried."

His barely-contained laughter signals that I've stumbled onto a sore spot. I contemplate how to ease the tension when he beats me to it. "A lot of people have met me, but not many know me."

Deciding not to press the issue, I appreciate the cool night air and his company. "What, not gonna ask a million questions?"

His ridiculous comment warrants an eye roll. "You kind of sound like you want me to," I retort, maintaining my attitude. A goofy chuckle escapes him. "Damn, girl. It's been that kind of night."

Calum's confusing demeanor intrigues me. "Look, I'm sorry if we got off on the wrong foot. My name is Stella. I promise I'm not usually this much of a mess. I'm spending my night dodging my friends who can't seem to let go of trying to make me happy when I'm not." I grin and shake his hand, sensing a shift in his energy.