My foot catches on the unknown, and I am that girl, falling, falling, and I go facedown with a hard thud, my bones rattling, the mush of weeds and mud splattering around me.
For long moments I’m just there on the ground, rain pounding down on me, and I can’t even think of moving. That’s when the sensation returns, that now-familiar feeling that I’m being stalked, watched. I roll over, and it’s too late for me now. Someone is standing over me.
Chapter Fifty-Two
A friend is someone who understands your past, believes in your future, and accepts you just the way you are.
—Unknown
The past ...
On any other day, in any other situation, I would call or text Adam and thank him for the dress.
I don’t.
I leave it in the box on the counter, sipping coffee and stuffing my face with bites of various muffins ranging from cherry to chocolate, while I think about how Adam snatched my address from the public record. Easy enough to believe except—my brows dip. Unless he really did talk to Jack that day at the coffee shop and Jack gave it to him? Maybe as a way of playing a part in my gift-box surprise? I reject that idea as fast as I’ve created it in my wild imagination. Jack did not give Adam my address.
Jack would never do such a thing.
I’m nibbling at another cherry muffin when my cellphone buzzes with a text alert from, of course,Adam. He’s probably expecting me to confirm the dress has arrived and that I love it. I open the message to read:
I hope you like the dress
Tonight
9 pm
He includes an address that seems to be nearby downtown. My teeth worry my bottom lip. Now it feels as if I should call him. But if I do that, I fear this weird, distrusting side of myself will creep into the conversation. I don’t even know why it’s present. He told me how he managed to come by my address in the note. Nevertheless, I am uneasy with Adam, and I’m pretty sure if I act suspicious of him one more time, we’re done. I think of our connection and the way he sets my pulse racing. I am alive when I talk to him, aware of myself as a woman, I think he is, too, and that feels good. I don’t want us to be done, but I also don’t want to be stupid. But who am I fooling? I can’t not find out what is real and what is not with Adam. Bottom line: I’m going to meet him tonight, this man who says he’s like me, this man I’ve talked with for hours on end. Pretending otherwise is a waste of time.
I stuff the muffins back in the bag and grab the box, carrying it with me upstairs. It probably won’t even fit. He might know my address, but my size is another story.
I type a simple reply:
Thank you. Gift received. It’s beautiful. Can’t wait to see you tonight.
Mia
The dress is a perfect fit.
Standing in front of my closet, I study the formfitting bejeweled bodice and flared skirt that falls just above the knee. It’s stunning, luxuriously silky, simple, and elegant, and I decide it’s a Cinderella dress if I’ve ever seen one. I don’t even know how Adam managed to pick a dress this close to my ideal dream gown with a perfect fit. Of course, we’ve talked for endless hours, and he’s watched me from afar; therefore, I reason, it’s likely he could guess a size. Not to mention, per the tags, he bought the dress at Saks Fifth Avenue, and the staff there is certainly paid well to be good at guessing these things. I decide not to overthink the dress fitting like a glove or Adam knowing my address. I’ve done a lot of looking for problems where Adam is concerned, and now tonight the speculation of what is right or wrong with our relationship, if that’s what you call this, ends. The time to ask Adam about Adam in person has come.
I give myself one last inspection, replaying Adam’s words in my head:“I told you I like you in red.”I wonder if he will think I look sexy in the dress. I laugh nervously. My cheeks are flushed, my skin warm. I do feel a little sexy in the dress, and it’s kind of wonderful. Maybe redismy color.
It’s time to go feel sexy with Adam.I’m ready,I think.
The mystery of the man ends tonight.
I arrive at the address Adam directed me to via his text at ten minutes until nine—a girl does like to be punctual. The building is a fancy all-glass high-rise that appears to be an office building, but there must be a restaurant inside. There is no security at the entry, and I walk to the elevator and choose floor eleven, as directed by Adam’s earlier message. With nervous energy lighting me up, I step onto the empty car, jab at the button, and then watch the doors slide shut.
Blinking at the vision of myself now reflecting before me in the silver sheen of the elevator, I barely recognize the girl in the red fitted dress and strappy black heels, her long dark hair silky around her shoulders. This can’t be me, and yet it is. Somehow itreally isme.
With a fist balled at my chest, I will my heart to calm while my chin lifts and tracks the floors as they zip past with far too rapid a pace. I enjoy Adam’s company on the phone, I tell myself. Certainly I will enjoy seeing him in person. Still, my mind goes to a novel I once read about a woman, Sue Ann Miller, who was chatting it up with a man named Joe online, only to discover it was all a huge joke created by someone she knew. This person who set her up later released all the chats and even a nude photo that she’d sent to “Joe” on a Reddit thread that went viral. Sue Ann was mocked and shamed to the point that she eventually killed herself.
The elevator opens on my destination floor, and I shake myself. I didn’t send a nude photo to Adam, and I am not going to be mocked. That’s a ridiculous notion, fiction I’m using to scare myself. Jess is right when she declares me truly my worst enemy at times.
I exit the car and walk down a small hallway to an open door. I step under the archway and suck in a breath at what I find. The floor is unfinished, a shell of offices waiting to be built, but in the center of it all, just in front of a row of windows, sits a dinner table with flowers and a bottle of wine on top. I don’t know if I should be charmed or afraid, but I quickly squash my fear. As Adam has observed, fear is my weakness. He wants to be alone with me. And when has any man gone to this much trouble for me ever?
Tentatively—no, more nervously—I cross the concrete floor and halt at the table, where there is a card with my name written on the front. I pick it up, open it, and withdraw a stack of note cards inside. The first one reads:Follow the instructions and don’t jump ahead. Your big surprise will await at the end.
