I woke with a start, sweat sticking my flimsy T-shirt to my skin.

Wiping my forehead with the back of my hand, I stared up at the ceiling, trying to shake off the dream. I still seemed to be within it even though I knew I was back in reality. Fire, clear as day, crawled up my curtains, and smoke the color of darkness was choking my lungs.

Blinking furiously, the image began to dissolve, and I was back in my room.

The darkness was broken up by the streetlight outside. Artificial light was creeping around the cracks in the curtains, leaving lines across my bedspread. The city was quiet, the little side street in the inner city suburb of Northcote was empty. Everyone was asleep, but I was wide-awake.

Who are you?

Rubbing my eyes, I reached for my phone and checked the time. One thirty-two a.m. Groaning, I unlocked the screen and checked my notifications out of habit. Social media was the great distraction of the twenty-first century if you asked me. People could say whatever they wanted online, and who the fuck cared if it was true or false or blatantly offensive? Take away accountability, give a person some anonymity, and it was a free for all.

Still, I couldn’t help checking to see if I had any messages. Slave.

There were a lot of comments about the fire and some shares and likes on older images and posts, but there didn’t seem to be anything from my mystery savior. The man with the chestnut bordering on chocolate eyes was still as mysterious as ever.

Setting my phone down, I rolled over and closed my eyes. My mind heaved with images, thoughts, and a strange longing, and sleep was beyond me. Frustrated, I picked up my phone and opened it again.

What was I doing? It was almost two in the morning, I was exhausted yet wide-awake, my body was coiled with a weird-as-fuck frustration, and I was dreaming about being burned alive. I needed to get something off my chest, but what was it?

The man. That was what. Who are you?

I tapped the notepad icon, and a new note appeared. Staring at the flashing icon, I allowed my thoughts to roam freely. I wasn’t the best writer in the world, but I had to get this out. He’d disappeared after doing such a selfless thing and had forced me to live without closure. I needed to tell him how I felt. Not how I found him hauntingly handsome but the ‘thanks for saving my life’ part.

My fingers flew over the little keyboard, and I went back and fixed some autocorrects, but I put it all out there. My life was in such a limbo state, with everything up in the air, I just had to tell somebody. I had customers who were dying to sample my creations in person, so I had to tell them what was going on, right? I owed it to my followers to tell them the story…

Honestly, it was more of a selfish reason that drove me to copy and paste the note into my social media accounts and attach a photo of the burned-out shop and another of me with one of my cakes—a ten-tiered wedding extravaganza I’d made a few months ago—and hit post. I wanted to find my handsome stranger. It was becoming an obsession with the amount of time I spent thinking about him and not rebuilding my business. I knew it was only two days since the fire, but I knew me. When I became fixated on something, look the fuck out.

Reading over the post again, I edited a typo.

---

My name is Callie Winslow, and two nights ago, I was almost burned alive.

I was painting in the storeroom of my soon-to-be-opened shop, The Fitzroy Cake Company, on Brunswick Street, Fitzroy.

You guys already know about me and my dream to one day have my own little slice of the retail pie (pun totally intended) and share my sugary creations with the world. Cupcakes with rainbow buttercream icing, a ten-tiered wedding cake to help celebrate a special union, a slice of red velvet and chocolate sponge with chocolate ganache drip icing to cheer up a dreary afternoon. Small, humble, personalized happiness on a plate. That’s The Fitzroy Cake Company’s core value…and mine.

The shop was set to open next weekend with free samples, balloons, glitter, and music, but unfortunately, I’ve had to postpone it. To when? I don’t know.

Two nights ago, a fire broke out in the kitchen. Within minutes, it had engulfed the entire room, leaving me trapped in the back with no way out.

I remember lying on the floor, smoke filling the tiny storeroom, then the sound of crashing glass. A man appeared through the flames and scooped me into his arms like an action hero. A stranger with the saddest eyes I’ve ever seen. He saved me and made sure I was delivered to safety, and then he disappeared without leaving his name.

He disappeared, and now he’s all I can think about.

I dream about smoke and fire, and it always ends with you saving me.

My shop can be rebuilt, my dream repaired, and The Fitzroy Cake Company will have its time to shine, but I was so close to suffocating, being burned alive or worse. You saved me from a terrible fate. You risked your life for a stranger, not even knowing if you would be able to help let alone get out yourself.

The man with the chocolate eyes. The gruff, sad, handsome stranger who I just can’t shake.

Whoever you are, please let me say thank you. Please let me shake your hand and speak the words.

You saved my life…and haunted me instead.

Please. Who are you?

---

Satisfied, I turned my phone off and promptly went to sleep. It seemed hashing it out helped after all.

I woke feeling groggy but oddly calm.

The sound of clattering footsteps rumbled down the hall, and a moment later, Macy threw open my bedroom door. She had this irritating habit of never knocking, which had resulted in her seeing my boobs more times than I could remember. The first time she’d done it she was all like ‘Nice tits, Callie!’ then promptly started talking to me like nothing was out of the ordinary.

This morning, she was dressed for work—as an administration assistant at an accounting firm in the city—in her usual getup of a cute silk blouse tucked into a black pencil skirt and sexy black kitten heels on her feet. Perfect hair and perfect makeup completed the ensemble.

“Uh, Callie?” She held up her mobile phone, a quizzical expression on her face. “Have you seen this?”

“Seen what?” I rubbed my eyes as she flopped down on the bed beside me.

“I think your midnight social media post has gone viral.”

“What?” My heart did a full somersault with a twist, and I snatched up my own phone. Unlocking the screen, my mouth fell open when I saw the notifications that had been lighting it up while I was asleep. It was still going—banners were appearing thick and fast. I would have to turn it off at this rate. “There’s thousands of them… Oh, my God, I can’t look. Do I want to look? I can’t. Look for me.” I tossed my phone at her.

She laughed and scrolled through her own. “It’s all good. You’ve mobilized an army.”

“They aren’t trolls?” I asked, my shoulders sagging. “Are you sure?”

“I’m sure. Callie, calm down a little. Take a deep breath…then look at your post.”

Taking a deep breath, I said a little prayer and picked up my phone. Opening the Facebook app, I tapped on the notifications and was led to my post.

There were tons of shares and likes, but the comments were nothing but positive. Well, there were a few jerks typing out negative things about my weight, but most of them were nice. Things like I’m glad you’re okay, I’m sorry about your shop, I hope you find your mystery guy, and I’ve shared in case someone I know knows him.

“Holy shit, Macy,” I said in total disbelief. “I didn’t think it would end up like this. I wasn’t even with it last night. I was completely brain fried.”

She snorted. “It’s done now.”

“I mean, I was dreaming about the fire… I was rattled…” I glanced up at my housemate, suddenly feeling sick. “Mace… Have I done the right thing? What if he didn’t want to be found, and now I’ve forced the guy to do something he didn’t want to do?”

“If you ask me,” she began, putting down her phone, “he can’t expect to save you, then not have you wonder about his identity. It’s common sense. After this, if he still doesn’t come forward, then you’ll know for sure either way. It’s all you can do. Reading the post might be enough of a thank you.”

She was right. I couldn’t force the guy to do anything. Besides, I didn’t know him at all. He could be anyone, but it didn’t stop me from conjuring up his image again.

“I can’t stop thinking about him,” I murmured. “It’s borderline obsessive, actually.”

“Was he hot?” Macy asked with a wicked grin. “He was hot, wasn’t he?”

I nodded, a smile pulling at my lips. “Yeah.”

“I knew it! It’s about time you were obsessed with a guy,” she declared. “You need to get yourself some cock, girl.”

“Macy!” My cheeks heated with embarrassment. She was so forward about these things, and a part of me wished I were like her. If she wanted sex, she went out and got it. If I wanted sex, I went out and flailed around like a moron and came home alone and miserable. I was so clueless.

“Don’t be such a prude,” she said with a giggle. “Anyway, let the post run its course, and if he wants to talk, he’ll let you know. Simple.”

It didn’t feel simple. I knew I would be glued to my phone all day, hitting refresh until I wore a hole in the screen.

“Well, I’ve gotta fly,” Macy said, standing and smoothing down her skirt. “I’ll see you tonight. If you need anything, call me at work, okay?”

I nodded. “Sure.”

She stopped at the door and glanced back. “And Callie? Don’t obsess. It’ll happen, or it won’t. Either way, you’ll be just fine, I promise.”

Smiling, I pushed down the nausea rolling in my stomach. “Sure.”

Before she left, she made a face. “You’re not going to do that, are you?”

“Nope.” I grinned sheepishly and picked up my phone to refresh my messages.

It was going to be a long day.