Andrew holds up a finger.
“Lets get one thing straight?—
“I ain’t ever been a stalker.”
“Oh, good,” I breathe out.
“I’ll sleep real fuckin’ easy tonight.”
“Andrew!”
Elle.
Again.
She walks past the aisle,
heading for the front of the store.
We both peek around the shelf
like two idiots in a bad spy movie.
Then she’s at the window, scanning the street.
Andrew steps out from behind the shelf.
Confident. Calm. Insane.
My stomach caves in.
My hand shoots out to grab his.
“Andrew—”
Then I immediately flinch,
side-eyeing my own hand like—ma’am?
What the fuck do you think you’re doing?
This is new. You don’t reach for people.
You push them. Or slap them. Or sign contracts.
“There you are,” Elle says.
Andrew holds up a hand, stopping her.
“Yeah, I’m callin’ it. I’m done.”
He lifts a shoulder?—
“Not that I was ever undone.”
He laughs under his breath.
Not at her. At himself.
