He Sees You When You’re Sleeping: A Dark and Steamy Holiday Romance of Obsession and Secrets – Where Desire Meets Danger in the Heart of NYC

Pete’s Cafe isn’t the type of place I’d normally visit. Not until Chloe that is. I’ve always been the type of guy who would make my coffee at home and avoid the overpriced, pretentious coffee shops in my neighborhood that seemed to be popping up on every corner. Even if I do pass it every day on my way to the fire station.

Jesus I’m beginning to sound like my grandpop, god rest his soul.

But Chloe visited this location every Tuesday without fail, often Wednesday, and even Fridays on occasion when she’d go to the Moth to the Flame office. So here I am. The guy who has spent a majority of his adult life as a loner unless you count work, suddenly daydreaming about holding hands over steaming mugs of coffee.

I even caught myself defending Pete’s to my fire captain the other day when I entered with the telltale cup that proved I overspent on something waiting for me in a pot at the station. “It’s not just about the coffee,” I found myself saying. “It’s about the experience, the atmosphere.”

As I push open the heavy wooden door, the rich aroma of freshly ground beans greets me. The cafe is bustling with the morning crowd, a mix of suited professionals and artsy types hunched over their laptops.

I scan the room, my heart rate quickening as I search for Chloe’s familiar face. She’s already in line, and no one is behind her. Not until I take the spot, that is.

She doesn’t know I’m here.

She never does.

But I am. I always am.

I take my place behind her, close enough to catch a whiff of her jasmine perfume. My palms are sweaty, and I wipe them on my pants, rehearsing the words I’ve practiced a hundred times in my head.

“Hey there,” I want to say. “Fancy seeing you here.” But the words catch in my throat. Thank God because who the hell says the word “fancy”?

I’ve memorized her order by now. A large soy latte with an extra shot of espresso and a sprinkle of cinnamon on top. She’ll treat herself to one of Pete’s famous blueberry scones which have now become a favorite of mine as well. Those little fuckers are addictive.

Today, she’s all business, tapping away at her phone as she waits her turn. It’s out of her normal, however. She’s not one of those girls who live on their phones twenty-four-seven. Shocking considering what she does for a living. But something I’ve always liked about Chloe is she seems to be an observer—like me. She watches people—like me.

Although she doesn’t stand outside someone’s windows in the dark—like me.

“Next!” calls the barista, and Chloe steps up to place her order.

I listen intently, hoping to catch some detail I might have missed, some clue to who she really is.

“Large soy latte, extra shot, cinnamon on top,” she says, her voice melodic and confident. “And . . . you know what? I’ll take a blueberry scone too. It’s been a long week.”

I smile to myself. Even her small indulgences are endearing.

As she moves to the side to wait for her order, I step up to the counter. The barista, a young guy with thick-rimmed glasses and an ironic mustache, raises an eyebrow at me.

“Let me guess,” he says with a knowing smirk. “Large black coffee?”

I clear my throat, suddenly aware of how transparent I’ve become. “Actually,” I say, surprising myself, “I’ll have what she’s having.”

The barista’s eyebrows shoot up, but he shrugs and punches in the order. I fumble with my wallet, acutely aware of Chloe standing just a few feet away. As I wait for my change, I steal a glance at her. She’s leaning against the counter, still absorbed in her phone, a slight frown creasing her forehead.

I want to ask her what’s wrong, to be the one to smooth away that worry line. But I’m just another stranger in a coffee shop, not the confidant I long to be.

“Order for Chloe!” the barista calls out, and she steps forward to claim her drink and scone. As she turns to leave, our eyes meet for a brief moment. My heart skips a beat as she flashes a polite smile, the kind you give to someone you pass on the street. It’s nothing special, but to me, it’s everything.

But then she pauses, studies me for a moment, and realization dawns on her facial expression. “Hey, I know you. You’re the man who helped my neighbor. Jack, right?”

“Uh, yeah,” I stammer, caught off guard by her recognition. “That’s me.”

“I didn’t know you came here.”

My pits begin to sweat, and my mouth goes dry. “Yeah . . . I work at the station down the street.”Nôvel(D)ra/ma.Org exclusive © material.

“Oh.” She pauses as if absorbing the information and then smiles. “I never got to thank you properly,” Chloe says, her eyes warm with genuine appreciation. “You were so helpful, and then the fact that you shoveled his walkway was really nice.”

My face heats, unsure how to handle the praise—especially from her. “Just being neighborly,” I mumble, rubbing the back of my neck.

She glances down at the T-shirt I’m wearing. It has the fire department’s logo. Although I rarely wear my full uniform to work, preferring to change when I get there, I do often wear one of the T-shirts as the blue cotton with the FDNY logo seems they make up most my attire after ten years of working. Ever since I was eighteen when I was brought on as a seasonal, it’s all I’ve ever known.

She takes a sip of her latte. “You must have an exciting job. Dangerous too, I imagine.”

I shrug, not wanting to come across as boastful. “It has its moments. But mostly, it’s just about being there for people when they need help.”

She nods thoughtfully, and I can see a glimmer of genuine interest in her eyes.

“Order for Jack!” the barista calls out.

I turn to grab my drink, and when I look back, I notice Chloe eyeing my cup curiously.

“Soy latte with cinnamon?” she asks, a hint of amusement in her voice. “That’s . . . unexpected.”

My face heats up again. “Uh, yeah. Trying something new,” I lie, knowing full well I’ve ordered her exact drink. I reach for my scone, knowing how guilty I look. What does it tell her about me that I copied her exact order?

Chloe’s lips curve into a knowing smile, and for a moment, I wonder if she’s seen through my flimsy excuse. But then she just nods, taking another sip of her own latte.

“Well, Jack the firefighter,” she says, her tone playful, “since we’re both here and you’re trying new things, why don’t you join me? I was just about to sit down and go over some work, but I could use a break.”

My heart leaps into my throat. This is the moment I’ve been waiting for, dreaming about for . . . years?

Jesus. Has it been that long? Jesus Christ.

And now that it’s here, I’m paralyzed with fear and desire to finally connect with this woman.

“I . . . uh . . . sure,” I manage to stammer out. “That’d be great.”

We make our way to a small table by the window. Sunlight streams in, catching the reddish highlights in Chloe’s dark hair. She sets down her phone and takes a bite of her scone, closing her eyes briefly in enjoyment.

“God, these really are addictive, aren’t they?” she says, echoing my earlier thoughts.

I nod, trying to appear casual as I sip my latte. The taste is unfamiliar—sweeter and smoother than my usual black coffee. But I find I like it, or maybe I just like sharing this moment with her.

“So, Jack,” Chloe says, leaning forward slightly. “Tell me more about being a firefighter. How long have you been doing it?”

As I start to answer, I feel a mix of elation and guilt. This is everything I’ve wanted—a chance to talk to Chloe, to get to know her. But there’s a voice in the back of my mind reminding me that this isn’t how it’s supposed to happen. That I shouldn’t be here, shouldn’t know so much about her already.

I push the thoughts aside, focusing instead on the way her eyes light up as I tell her about my first big fire, the adrenaline rush of racing to a call. For now, I let myself believe that this is normal, that I’m just a guy having coffee with a beautiful woman he’s interested in.

I’m not the stalker outside her window memorizing every curve of her body.

But as Chloe laughs at one of my jokes, her phone buzzes on the table. She glances at it, and that worried frown returns.

“Everything okay?” I ask, unable to stop myself.

She sighs, running a hand through her hair. “It’s just work stuff. Nothing major.”

I nod, wanting to press further but knowing I shouldn’t. I shouldn’t care this much about a stranger’s problems. But Chloe isn’t a stranger to me, even if I am to her.

“So what do you do?” I ask, knowing that I shouldn’t know this information even though I do.

“I’m an influencer. Sales, I guess you could say. For jewelry brands.”

“That sounds interesting.”

She shrugs, a wry smile playing at her lips. “It has its moments. Not as exciting as running into burning buildings, I’m sure.”

I chuckle, trying to downplay my job. “Trust me, it’s not all excitement. There’s a lot of waiting around, cleaning equipment, and paperwork too.”

“Well I win there. I don’t have paperwork.” Chloe leans in, her eyes sparkling with curiosity. “But still, you must have some incredible stories. What’s the craziest thing you’ve ever seen on the job?”

I pause, considering. There are so many stories I could tell, but I’m wary of coming across as an arrogant jack ass, as some firefighters love to do. I’ve never been one to do so just to get in some girl’s pants, and yet here I am now. But this is my chance to impress her, to keep her interested.

“Well,” I begin, “there was this one time we got called to a house fire. When we arrived, we found out it wasn’t just any house—it was a hoarder’s home.”

Chloe’s eyes widen. “Oh no, that must have been awful.”

I nod, remembering the chaos of that night. “It was like navigating a maze of junk, with smoke licking at our heels. We had to create pathways just to move through the house. Junk everywhere. Everywhere. And the smell . . . I can’t possibly describe the smell of burnt hoarder house.”

As I continue the story, I watch Chloe’s reactions closely. She gasps at the tense moments, laughs at the absurd details, and nods sympathetically when I describe the homeowner’s distress. It’s intoxicating, having her full attention like this.

“Wow,” she says when I finish. “That’s incredible. You guys really are heroes.”

My face heats once again at her praise. “We’re just doing our job,” I mumble, suddenly self-conscious that my face keeps changing colors from white to red to white to red.

Chloe shakes her head. “Don’t downplay it. What you do is amazing.” She pauses, then adds with a grin, “Although I have to say, I’m a little disappointed there weren’t any cats stuck in trees in that story.”

I laugh, grateful for the moment of levity. “Oh, we wouldn’t be true firefighters if we didn’t rescue a cat in our day.”

“I knew it!”

“Well, if it’s cats you want, I’ve got a doozy for you,” I say, leaning in conspiratorially. “Picture this: a three a.m. call about a ‘large animal’ stuck in a tree. We show up, expecting maybe a raccoon or a possum. But no—it’s a full-grown mountain lion.”

Chloe’s jaw drops. “You’re kidding!”

“I wish I was,” I chuckle. “This beast, who actually was some eccentric guy’s pet, had escaped and gotten itself stuck about thirty feet up an oak tree. And let me tell you, it was not happy to see us.”

“What did you do?” Chloe asks, completely enthralled.

“Well, first we had to call animal control. But they were short-staffed and couldn’t get there for hours. Meanwhile, this cat is getting more agitated by the minute. We couldn’t leave it there—someone’s pet could’ve wandered by and become lunch. Hell . . . we could have become lunch.”

I pause for dramatic effect, enjoying the way Chloe leans in closer, hanging on my every word.

“So, there I am, inching up this ladder with a tranquilizer gun borrowed from a local vet. Heart crashing against my chest, palms sweating—because one wrong move and I’m cat food. I get within range, take aim, and . . .”

“And?” Chloe prompts, eyes wide.

“I sneeze. Loudly. The mountain lion, startled, loses its footing and starts to fall. I manage to get off a shot, but now I’ve got a hundred and fifty pounds of semiconscious, very angry cat plummeting toward me.”

Chloe gasps, her hand flying to her mouth. “Oh my god, what happened?”

I grin, savoring the moment. “Let’s just say I gained a newfound appreciation for airbags that day. My team had set up a jump cushion, just in case. The cat and I both landed on it—thankfully, on opposite ends.”

Chloe bursts out laughing, a warm, genuine sound that makes my heart skip a beat. “That’s insane! I can’t believe you actually experienced that.”

“That’s because I didn’t. I’m kidding,” I admit, laughing loudly. “But it makes for a great story at parties.”

Chloe’s laughter dies down, replaced by a mock scowl. “You had me going there for a minute,” she says, playfully swatting my arm. “I can’t believe I fell for that.”

I grin, enjoying the easy banter between us. “Sorry, I couldn’t resist.”

We fall into an easy conversation, swapping stories about our jobs and lives. I’m careful not to reveal too much, to only share what a casual acquaintance might reveal. But it’s hard when I want to tell her everything, when I want her to know me as well as I know her.

As we continue to talk, I find myself relaxing, forgetting for moments at a time about the circumstances that brought me here. It feels so natural, so right, to be sitting across from her, sharing stories and laughter.

But then I catch sight of my reflection in the window, and reality comes crashing back. I see myself as I truly am—a man living a lie, pretending to be something I’m not. The guilt rises in my throat like bile.

Chloe must sense the shift in my mood. “Everything okay?”

I force a smile. “Yeah, just remembered I have my shift I need to get to. I should probably get going.”

She nods, looking slightly disappointed. “Of course. Well, it was really nice talking to you. Maybe we’ll run into each other here again sometime?”

“Yeah, maybe,” I say, knowing full well I’ll be here every Tuesday, Wednesday, and occasional Friday, like always. “I come here a lot,” I add to make it not so obvious how obsessed I am.

As I stand to leave, Chloe reaches out and touches my arm lightly. “Thanks again for helping Mr. Haven. It’s good to know there are still people like you in the world.”

Her words are like a knife to my heart. If only she knew the truth about me, about why I was really there that day. I mumble a goodbye and hurry out of the cafe, the bell above the door jingling cheerfully behind me.

Outside, I lean against the brick wall, taking deep breaths of the cool morning air. What am I doing? This isn’t me. I’m not this creepy stalker, this liar. I’m a firefighter, for Christ’s sake. Chloe’s right. I am a good person. I am.

But as I start walking to work, I can’t shake the image of Chloe’s smile, the sound of her laugh. I tell myself this is the last time, that I’ll stop coming to the cafe, stop following her.

Okay . . . I’m a liar.

I miss her already.