Then I realize something.
Did this stalker take something of mine? Did he look through my things? Did he touch my clothes? Smell them? Did stalkers do that?
My eyes widen. “Do you think my things are okay? Do you think…?”
“I’ll take care of it,” Evan says, cutting me off.
I nod my head, and I want to say that I’m sorry. Sorry that I sprayed him with pepper spray. Sorry that he’s having to put up with me and this mess I’ve made. Sorry that he probably won’t get any sleep because he’s hoping to murder my stalker.
But Lily just told me to stop apologizing, so instead, I lean into her and walk toward the elevator, leaving Evan behind to deal with my problems, knowing he probably thinks I’m the biggest problem he has.
Chapter 20
Evan
IknowIshouldapologize, but I’m not great at using my words softly. Being meek wasn’t a luxury I had growing up. It was a potential fatality.
So, instead, I’m sorting through her things. Her frilly, colorful, wrinkled things.
The police unwrapped the gift and found a wedding dress. So, obviously the man we are dealing with is delusional. I told Lily it wasjust a dress. I don’t have it in me to potentially ruin Rachel’s bridal-obsessed movies for her by making a wedding dress look like a threat instead of a dream even if she did ruin my eyesight for a while. Some things can alter perspective much longer than pepper spray does.
As I fold her dresses, I realize they don’t smell like Rachel. Not in the way Rachel smells like Rachel. Her aroma of sunshine must come from her smile and her very existence. Not that I should care about where her smell comes from at all.
Unfortunately, I don’t know if anything is missing, but since the police already have been through the room, I sent for prioritized dry cleaning just in case that creep did touch anything of hers. I don’t want her to worry if he did.
Three sharp knocks at the door startle me, and I feel my right hand flex as I stride toward the door, but when I look through the peephole it’s simply room service here to pick up Rachel’s clothes.
I open it.
“Mr. Michaels,” the attendant says.
I glance at his maroon name tag. Gerald.
“Hi, Gerald,” I say. “I need all these clothes properly cared for immediately and returned by the morning.”
He nods his head as I step out of his way so he can enter the room with a rolling cart. “Yes, sir.”
“I’ve sorted through the ones that are hand-wash only,” I add as I slip him a hundred-dollar bill.
Gerald nods again. “Yes, Mr. Michaels. Thank you.”
I help him place the clothing in the cart, and as I get to Rachel’s worn and fraying tracksuit from high school, I pause. “Gerald, please be careful with this. It’s special and can’t be replaced.”
I think about how it was just a week ago when she opened her apartment door wearing it. How, in one week, her life has completely changed, and I swallow away the thought that I am beginning to wonder if mine is changing, too. Hers with a stalker, mine with feelings. Feelings I shouldn’t be feeling at all.
“Yes, Mr. Michaels,” he replies dutifully.
“Thank you,” I say as he leaves the room with the cart.
I pick up my phone.
Evan
Is Rachel okay?
Lily
You could ask her yourself.
