Still staring at my phone as my heart beats faster, I slowly cast a look in the man’s direction in time to find him calmly typing something on his phone and sending another look my way. I’ll never know if I’m reading way too much into this stranger or if I’m onto something unless I test my theory. But first, I want a picture of him. Just in case.
Pretending like I’m totally engrossed in something on my phone, I snap a quick picture of the man in the hat. Then I tuck my phone into my pocket. I pick up my scone and tea, heading back to the counter, where I ask for a to-go container for my scone. I take my time, making a slow process of transferringthe oversized orange-cranberry triangle into a biodegradable container. I’ve made sure to position myself so that I can keep an eye on the stranger. He’s watching his coffee, typing on his phone, and glancing casually in my direction every so often.
Watching me.
Panic makes my chest tighten, but I do my best to control it. After snapping the to-go lid closed, I drop the container into my bag. Clutching my hot tea in one hand and my phone in the other, I weave through my fellow patrons and head out of the coffee shop. As I do so, I see the stranger in the dark hat rising from his chair, and goose bumps break out on my arms. It could be a coincidence.
Or he could be following me.
Back outside, I take a second to get my bearings. I can go to the right and cross the street to the penthouse. Or I can head to the left and see if the guy from the coffee shop follows. I go to the left, pretending to glance at the shop windows as I go so that I can watch for him in my peripheral vision.
And there he is, following in my wake with long, determined strides.
Still, the city is a huge place. He could be going back to work. Or home. To the subway. He could be headed anywhere, and just because he also took a left, it doesn’t necessarily mean he’s following me.
I dip into a tourist store that’s filled with knickknacks like magnets, coasters, tees, and mini snow globes. I duck behind a shelf and watch as he slows by the door to the shop but then keeps going. Relief hits me. He’s not following me.
Feeling guilty for stopping into the shop without buying anything, I select a magnet for my fridge—whenever I have a fridge again—as a memento of this trip. I should have gotten one in the hotel gift shop in St. Thomas, but then I guess I’ll alwayshave my St. Thomas shorts to remind me of those glorious days in the sun.
And the even more glorious one-night stand I so stupidly allowed myself. I pay for the magnet, thanking the cashier who looks bored to be there, and then I dash back outside. But when I hit the cold air and the sidewalk crowd, I realize the guy in the dark hat didn’t keep going. He’s a half a block down, lingering by a bench.
I duck back into the tourist store, the bell on the door jingling merrily as I reenter. The bored cashier looks up at me, and I’m not even sure he recognizes I was the person who was here about one minute before, paying him for a magnet.
Either way, I blurt out, “I’m having second thoughts about the magnet I chose.”
He blinks at me. “We have a no-return policy.”
“Do you have a swap policy?”
As I ask the question, I keep my eyes trained on the window. The man in the dark hat has slowly started moving back in my direction, and now my panic is in overdrive.
What if he realized I saw him following me? What if he’s going to come into this shop? Who is he, and what does he want?
“Like, you mean you want to trade the magnet you bought for a different one?” the shop clerk asks me. “I mean, if it was of equal or lesser value, I guess we could do that.”
“Hold that thought,” I tell him, taking out my phone.
As much as I was avoiding doing this, I think it’s time to text Alessio.
My heart pounds as I open my contacts, looking for Alessio. He’s there, listed in the A section for Andriani, under Saint. Hastily, I select message and start typing with my thumbs.
What if there’s a guy who followed me into the coffee shop?
I attach the picture and wait.
Three dots instantly appear.
WTF are you doing out of the penthouse without my approval?
I wanted tea.
Are you alone or did you at least take a guard, and the answer better not be what I fucking think it is.
I wince,then type out my reply, glancing back into the street as I do so. The man in the dark hat has stopped just short of the shop, and he’s on his phone, looking up at the storefront like he’s telling whoever’s on the phone the name of the store I’m in.
I tap out another reply to Alessio.
I’m alone.
