1: Emily

I'm working on my newest book, only a few thousand words in, when a ping sounds from my phone. I pick it up and notice that the notification is from SearchMatch. My breath catches in my throat at the sight of being notified that a match was found.

'Who could possibly have matched with me?'

Signing up for it was a long shot since my search history is one of a writer. Lots of baby name lists, poisons, maps, and other odd things. Since so many of my books are based off of real serial killers and their methods, that makes for a very different search history. As far as I knew, I could be matched with another writer, perhaps one I've already met. That or someone who is not to be trusted

Opening up SearchMatch's app, a picture of a good looking man stares back at me. His name is Nic Walker, 36, neurosurgeon.

"Looks like he's pretty smart," I say to myself. A neurosurgeon using a dating website is not something very common. Kind eyes give me a feeling of trust. Maybe I was overthinking this whole thing. This Nic guy could turn out to be the one for me.

I stare at the message area and a "Hi" pops up. It is quickly followed by "My name is Nic Walker."

"Wait. You would already know that."

"That makes me feel stupid."

A laugh escapes my mouth. He must be nervous to be sending messages like that.

"Nice to meet you Nic. I'm Emily Jenkin."

"Don't feel bad. A guy introducing himself is one sign of a gentleman."

There's a bit of a pause before he responds and it makes me start to worry.

Then a ping sounds from my phone. "That makes me feel better."

The conversation goes on for a few hours. In between texts I work on the newest installment in the "Dread Murders." For some reason I can't seem to figure out a title for it.

We come to the agreement that meeting in a few days would be a good idea before deciding whether or not to move forward with the relationship.. Picking a shop called Fiction Coffee, Nic and I decide to meet next Tuesday morning at ten.

~~~

The rest of the week rushes by and finally the day I've been waiting for comes around.

First impressions have always meant alot to me. The key point for one is definitely how I dress. Rummaging through my closet, I pull out outfit after outfit.

"Why can't I find anything to wear!" I say in exasperation.

Then something catches my eye.

"When did I get this?" A floral skirt lies folded in the back of my shelves. I pull it out and take a look at it. "Now this will work."

Quickly searching through my closet, I find a white blouse and sandals that stay securely on my feet.

I hop in my car and fight the traffic to get downtown. Parking a few blocks away on Trevolle Place, I look at the clock and realize I'm much earlier than expected. Deciding to walk around, I make my way to Exall Park.

I pull out the notebook I have on me at all times and start jotting down things I see around the park. Something I've been debating for awhile is starting a new series. But instead of it being a mystery book, it'll be fantasy. Everything I see sparks some kind of inspiration.

Getting lost in my thoughts, I decide I should look at the clock.

"SHIT!" It's 10:04. "I'm going to be so late!"

I throw my notebook in my bag and rush towards Fiction Coffee. I manage to make it in a few minutes. As soon as I open the door, I run into someone wearing a blue polo and khaki pants.

Looking up, I see a face I've only seen in one picture. "Oh you've got to be kidding me." Out of all the people in the world, I had to run into the guy I was meeting for the first time.

"Well, well, well, look who showed up," he quips.

I immediately rush to apologize. "I am so, so sorry. I was in the park planning and COMPLETELY lost track of time. Being a writer is quite the problem."

"Wait, you're a writer?" The look of disappointment was quickly replaced by shock.

"Umm, yes?" My answer came out as more of a question than an actual answer. "Did you not read my profile?"

"I did, but I thought it was more of a 'I don't want people to know what I do until I get to know them' thing."

"What on earth possessed you to think that?" I ask. I've met a lot of stupid people, but one that doesn't actually check to see if someone is a writer? That's a new one.

"Well, I've gotten that question a lot about being a neurosurgeon." He sheepishly rubs the back of his head. The look on his face becomes slightly ashamed with a small amount of worry being mixed in.

"Why would people assume you aren't one?"

"It takes around fifteen years to become a neurosurgeon and I did it in ten. I did AP all of high school, passed all the tests too, and I took a few too many classes each semester in college and med school. The only thing I didn't rush was-"

"Your residency."

The look he gives me is one of pure shock. "You really are a writer."

"That's just common knowledge." Who knew someone this smart could be so dumb? I'm going to have to remember that for future projects. "Your residency is what gives you real world experience. Skipping residency is like trying to run a seven minute mile the first time you run."

"I never thought of it like that." He pauses for just a second. "What would you say about grabbing that coffee?"

Even with being late, he is still willing to take a chance on me "I'd like that."

Nic opens the door and lets me go in first. I order a Secret Garden coffee and he gets a basic coffee with chocolate in it. When I go to pay for my order, he stops me.

"I'm fine getting my own coffee. It's not that big of a de-"

"A lady should never pay on the first date," he interjects.

I feel the tips of my ears get hot. The one blessing in this, is that they are completely hidden under my hair. "So you admit this is a date?" I cautiously ask.

"Well, kinda. I mean, we did meet on a dating site and agreed to 'go out'," he says with air quotes. "So, I guess this is technically a date."

We stand around chatting while we wait for our drinks. Once we get them and make our way to an outside table, Nic asks, "So what books do you write?"

I swallow my coffee and respond, "Mainly murder mysteries. I've thought about other genres, but serial killers and such have always interested me."

"So who's your favorite serial killer?"

The question throws me for a loop. Most people don't really have a favorite serial killer nor do they just ask people that. But the again, I did mention I liked serial killers and wrote murder mystery books, so I guess I brought it on myself.

After a minute I finally respond. "I don't really know. Each one has their own little quirks that make them all different. But the ones that will always be my favorite are the ones that never get caught, like the Zodiac Killer. And if I'm being honest, that new one has a lot of potential."

"New one?" he asks.

"Yeah. Haven't you seen the news?"

"No… I didn't know that there's even been any bodies found recently." The shock written on his face was evident. "People in the medical field tend to talk. So if anything had come up, we would know."

"Dang. Then I guess I'm a little too obsessed with serial killers." A laugh escapes my mouth and he joins in.

"Being obsessed with something is never a bad thing." He glances around as if to make sure no one is watching. "When I was in school, different methods of serial killers became something I was absolutely enthralled with. I used to think that if I learned their methods, I could figure out who potential targets could be, save them, and maybe even completely stop the killers."

"What stopped you?" I carefully ask.

Nic pauses for a minute. "I guess I grew up. Not everything can be solved by a kid. Our lives aren't books or movies. Reality hit and I put all that away. Now I'm trying to get back into it."

"That's what seems to happen to us. We grow up and lose sight of all the possibilities in the world. If I'm being honest that's why I started writing. The smallest things can open a door to worlds we could never imagine."

"Then why write murder mysteries?"

"The books aren't just about murder. They're taken from real cold cases that have never been solved. I simply create details I can use for the characters to solve the cases while also finding more of themselves along the way." I take a drink of my coffee before asking Nic a question based on the one he asked me. "If you were such a serial killer expert back in the day, what are some of the best methods you studied?"

"Those that are unique. Think of H.H. Holmes. He had a whole freaking murder castle that he used as a hotel." Nic begins ticking off serial killers on his hand. "Then there's the acid bath murderer, the one who targeted abusers. The ones that did it to stop bad people seem to be the most interesting to study. They could take down dozens of people that have hurt others. It's people like that who earn my respect. Even if they go about it all the wrong way."

His answer leaves me speechless. 'He knows what they're doing is wrong yet respects some of them? I've never heard that before.'

"So what I'm hearing is that you enjoy some killers methods but don't like if they do it for their own pleasure?"

"Yep. Those are the worst in my opinion."

"Interesting way of looking at things. I always thought of the killers in my books as actual people, but never thought of why they might be doing it for some reason other than the typical sociopathic tendencies found in serial killers."

~~~

We remain at Fiction Coffee well into the afternoon. The only thing keeping us from staying longer is Nic being called in.

"I am so sorry to say this, but I need to go to the hospital."

"New patient come in?" I ask.

"Yep. And from the looks of it, it seems serious."

"How serious?"

"Life threatening."

I pull in a sharp breath. "Then you need to go. I don't want you to lose a patient."

"Thank you Emily."

We start splitting ways when Nic turns back to me. "Talk to you later?"

A smile spreads across my face. "I'd like that. Good luck with that patient of yours. Bye Nic. It was nice to finally meet you in person."

"Same here."

I take my time walking back to where I parked. Nothing was really happening the rest of the day. If I needed to, I could just go to work to clear my head and work on my book. Only problem is if I go, I'll walk out with about 30 more books I don't really need.

"I can always write at home. Today is my day off and I don't need anymore books. Not until I finish the ones I just got."

Quickly locating my Camry in the lot, I head home and collapse on the sofa with my laptop and a mug of tea. All the stress I felt about meeting Nic was for nothing. He's a really nice guy. While he may be a little slow for someone so smart, deep down I can tell he's just trying to understand things.

I haven't had much luck in the relationship department, so I'm really hoping this one succeeds.