"In Thin Air" - Installment Two - Thirty Minutes to Kill

 PREFACE

During the Victorian era, “penny magazines”—often called penny dreadfuls—revolutionized storytelling. These serialized thrillers were sold in weekly installments for just a penny, bringing suspenseful tales to the working class and transforming fiction from an elite luxury into an affordable pastime for the masses.

Today, in the Information Age—somewhere between TikTok scrolls and rapidly shrinking attention spans—I’m resurrecting the spirit of the penny dreadful. But this time, it’s completely free, delivered right here on my blog.

So without further ado… (drumroll please)

Welcome to my first serialized short story of "In Thin Air":

Installment Two

Thirty Minutes to Kill

Caroline was halfway through a spreadsheet when her phone buzzed.

Another Bumble notification.

She glanced down mostly out of boredom. The office was quiet in that fluorescent mid-afternoon way energy companies seemed to specialize in—rows of gray cubicles, the low hum of HVAC, someone reheating fish in the breakroom like a workplace terrorist.

The message read:

“Random question—are you taking the G-Line today? I’ve got a meeting near the Olde Town stop and have about 30 minutes to kill. There’s a pizza place right there. Want to grab a quick drink?”

Caroline paused.

Direct.

Also, most men on Bumble opened their daily community with something forgettable like hey or how’s your day. This felt… intentional.  Like a welcomed anomaly.  

His name was Daniel. She remembered swiping right the night before while half-watching Netflix. They’d traded easy banter since—light, flirtatious, unremarkable. Caroline was new to Colorado and didn’t know many people. She’d found herself opening up faster than usual. He was from the South too. That helped. Shared geography felt like shared safety.  

His profile was fine.

Thirty-nine. Consultant. A hiking photo near Red Rocks. Some cycling photos.  A golden retriever that almost certainly belonged to a friend. The standard Colorado man starter kit.

Mid.

That was the word that came to mind to describe him.

Not unattractive. But not memorable.

But normal felt like a rare commodity on dating apps.  She convinced herself that normal was safe.

She typed back.

“I could do a quick bite and drink. 30 minutes?”

The typing dots appeared almost instantly.

“Perfect. Mario’s Pizza by the train stop in Olde Towne.”

---

Mario’s was loud and smelled like garlic knots and cheap beer.

Daniel was already there at the bar.

He stood immediately when he saw her.

“Caroline?”

“Yes.”

“Daniel.”

They did the awkward Bumble greeting—half hug, half handshake—before settling onto stools.

Up close, he looked exactly like his photos.  Maybe slightly older. 

Average height. Brown hair transitioning into salt and pepper, that looked like it had once been styled but now existed in a state of quiet surrender. A navy button-down shirt like he’d just come from an office.  And, the quintessential Colorado Patagonia puffer jacket with jeans and hiking boots.

If she’d passed him in a grocery store, she probably wouldn’t have noticed him.

But he smiled easily.

“What are we drinking?” he asked.

“Something quick,” she said. “I technically should be working.  I have a project that’s due tomorrow.”

“Dangerous words,” he said, lifting a hand to the bartender. “Two IPAs.”

She raised an eyebrow.

“Bold of you to assume I drink IPA.”

“In Denver?” he said. “Statistically safe.”

Caroline laughed.

Okay.

He was funnier than she expected.

---

The first drink disappeared quickly.

Then the second.

Then the third arrived without either of them really ordering it.  She couldn’t remember him signaling the bartender.

The conversation loosened as the alcohol flowed.

Daniel talked easily. Stories about consulting clients, airports, travel disasters. At one point he described getting stranded in Reykjavik with a German bachelor party and accidentally ending up in a hot spring at 2 a.m.  He delivered the stories with timing, not flash. Self-deprecating without seeming insecure.

Caroline found herself leaning forward on the barstool.

“You’re funnier than your profile suggested,” she said.

“That’s the nicest insult I’ve gotten all week.”

“No, I mean it,” she said. “Your profile made you seem… normal.”

He smiled, but the smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

“Normal’s overrated.” he said softly.

The bartender dropped off another round.

Caroline hadn’t noticed him order it.

---

A train thundered past outside the windows. Daniel didn’t look toward it.

He was watching her.

Not in an overtly creepy way. Just very directly. As if he were cataloging something.

The conversation drifted to relationships.

“Ever been married?” she asked.

“Almost.”

He took a slow drink, staring into the glass.

“Dodged a bullet.”

“Oh?”

“Caught her cheating about six weeks before the wedding.”

“Oof.”

He laughed once. There was no humor in it.

“Yeah. I almost married a whore.”

The word landed flat between them.

He didn’t say it angrily. He didn’t raise his voice.

He said it calmly. Almost clinically.

Caroline blinked.

The harshness of it felt slightly disproportionate to the story. Too sharp for a first date.

He noticed the flicker in her expression.

“Sorry,” he said. “Bad habit. I’m blunt.”

She nodded quickly. “It’s okay.”

She told herself it was just hurt talking. People carried baggage. That didn’t make them dangerous.

He held her gaze a second longer than necessary.

Then he smiled again, like a switch flipped.

“But hey,” he said lightly. “Lessons learned.”

---

A train thundered past the station windows again.

Daniel barely glanced at it.

Instead, his eyes were glued on her.

“So,” he said. “What made you move to Colorado?”

Caroline launched into the familiar explanation—new job at the energy company, needed a change, liked the mountains...and then, because the explanation sounded so rehearsed, she joked, "A midlife crisis!" 

Daniel listened quietly. 

Really quietly.

He didn’t interrupt.

He didn’t check his phone.

He just watched her with an intensity that made her slightly self-conscious.

At the time she interpreted it as his interest in her.

Later she would remember how closely he seemed to be studying her.

---

When she checked the time, she nearly spilled her drink.

“Wait. How long have we been here?”

Daniel glanced casually at his watch.

“Two hours.”

“Well, that escalated quickly.”

“Good conversation does that.”

He said it calmly, but there was something that sounded satisfied in his voice.

---

Outside, the evening air had cooled down quite a bit.

The train platform lights flickered on.  Caroline put on her winter coat.

“You heading home?” he asked.

“Yeah.”

He nodded toward the tracks.

“I’m parked the other way.”

They stood there in that strange end-of-date pause.

Then he said it.

“I want to see you again.”

Not would you like to.

Just a statement.

Caroline tilted her head.

“Maybe.”

“Brutal.”

“I have to maintain some mystery.”

He laughed.

The train lights appeared in the distance.

As Caroline stepped toward the platform she glanced back.

Daniel hadn’t moved.

He was standing exactly where she’d left him.

Watching her.

Completely still.

Not waving.

Not checking his phone.

Just watching until the train doors closed.

He didn’t lift a hand.

He didn’t check his phone.

He just watched.

His expression went completely neutral.  

At the time, she thought it meant he liked her.

Later, she would realize it felt more like he had just decided something.

 

Author's Note:

Thirty minutes turned into two hours.

Next week?
Things escalate.

Installment Three — coming soon.  Until then, listen to your instincts.

Quick shout out, again, to AI for the illustrations to my story.  When I become a famous writer, I will employ human artists! 

— K