Page 13 of Safe Word

I nearly laughed aloud, but I caught myself mid-chuckle and buried my nose in my phone to hide it – before someone took me for a madwoman.

I wondered if he was older. Younger? Scarred, or as devastatingly handsome as his body suggested?

My gaze snagged on a man two tables away. Dark hair, quiet. For a heartbeat, I let my thoughts stray – could it be him? No – his shoulders weren’t broad enough, his forearms bare of any ink. Ghost had a presence, a gravity no one could fake. This man, while attractive, wasn’t him.

Still, I couldn’t help the way my body tensed at the thought. The idea that Ghost could be walking among the everyday crowd, slipping unnoticed through the cracks of normal life.

The man I’d been absently staring at caught my glance and offered a small, polite smile. I quickly looked away as heat crept up my neck.

There was no point in imagining things. Ghost wasn’t here. He wasn’t anyone I would meet in the daylight. He was a creature of the night, a phantom who belonged to the shadows.

But even as I sipped my macchiato, I couldn’t stop the thought from tearing through my barriers.

What if I was wrong? What if he was closer than I thought?

The waiter set a fresh glass of water on the table and slid today’s newspaper across to me with a polite nod. I smiled back, murmuring a quick ‘Grazie,’ though my mind was already elsewhere.

My Italian was improving, but it still had gaps that forced me to read more slowly and parse each word carefully. Still, I liked the ritual: sifting through the pages as if I belonged here, as if this tiny café and its morning rhythm were my own.

Flicking through the sections, I absorbed the sound of paper rustling, blending with the ambient hum of conversation and clinking cups. Politics, sports, culture – all skimmed past until I found the part I was actually looking for: the job ads. I folded the paper neatly, scanning the column with a growing sense of resignation.

Mostly listings for cleaners and nannies, as usual.

I pursed my lips. Neither was particularly enticing, especially since I was less than skilled at either. Cleaning? Sure, I could manage my own space, but professionally? Hard pass. As for nannying, well… I had zero patience for the chaos that came with other people’s children. The thought of wrangling sugar-fuelled gremlins for minimum wage? Hard pass.

I sighed, about to fold the newspaper back up and call it another loss, when my eyes hooked onto a heading at the bottom of the page.

The ad was small, almost nondescript, tucked between mundane postings. But its bold headline in crisp Italian immediately grabbed my attention.

‘Writer and Editor Wanted – English Proficiency Required.’

I sucked in a breath, skimming over the description.

A private author was looking for someone fluent in English, preferably with experience in creative writing. The requirements were like a checklist of my skills, and I almost laughed at how absurdly perfect it seemed.

I reread the text again – just for good measure.

And then my heart sank – the interviews were today! At noon! Which left me little time to get ready properly. I would have to pop into the flat to grab my best-sellers without showering or changing clothes.

A buzz started low in my gut – part dread, part hope – a thrill of possibility rushing through me.

Maybe this was the shift I needed: the beginning of something new that could finally pull me out of the limbo I’d lived in for so long. And perhaps, even break down the fear that had begun to solidify in my veins until I couldn’t even go to the grocery store without looking over my shoulder.

It didn’t matter that I had been out of the traditional job market for years. This was an opportunity – one that felt like it had been dropped into my lap by divine intervention.

And maybe a job would take my mind off Ghost and allow me to face him without vanishing into him. It would be easy to lose myself in what we’d begun.

Ultimately, it was either this or therapy – and therapy hadn’t helped me before.

God, how annoying.

I used to be more of a hands-on, do-or-die kind of woman. I wanted to be that woman again – confident and free. And to get back to that, I had to step out of my comfort zone.

Grabbing my phone, I took a photo of the ad, my mind racing with ideas.

This could be it – the first real step towards reclaiming the life I wanted.

A job was stability. And stability meant survival – a tether to the real world.