“How many times have you blocked him?”
“Four? Five?” I grab my bag, suddenly desperate to leave. “It's fine. I just need to block this number too and?—“
“Emma. Look at me.” I lift my face, tears stinging my eyes. “Has he shown up in person before?”
“Twice… back in Ashford. He said he just wanted to talk, but I couldn't breathe until he left.”
Kai looks at the phone again. “Would you mind,” he says, his voice carefully controlled, “if I wrote down this number? I have friends who are very effective at discouraging unwanted contact.”
I stare at him. “You want to sic your friends on my ex?”
“I want to make sure he can't find you. Only if you are comfortable with it. I won’t do anything without your permission.”
I should say no. I barely know this man, but the thought of James showing up at GVM or my studio is more than I can bear. “Okay,” I whisper.
He types the number into his phone and sends a quick text. “Let me drive you home,” he says.
“You don't have to?—“
“I know I don't have to.” He's already wearing his jacket. He holds out a hand to help me up. “I'd like to. If that's alright.”
I should argue. I always argue, but I’m shaking, and James is still in my head, and right now, the thought of being alone, watching my back on public transit makes my skin crawl.
“Okay,” I say. “Thank you.”
I take his hand. It's warm and envelops mine completely, but his grip is loose. Easy to pull away from if I wanted to.
He helps me to my feet and lets go the moment I'm steady.
His car is parked around the corner. I know nothing about cars, but I know money when I see it.
He opens my door. I slide in and try not to touch anything. The leather interior is supple and smells of luxury.
“Address?” he asks, starting the engine.
I give it to him and watch his face for the reaction.
If he has any thoughts, he keeps them for himself as he pulls into traffic.
“It's not a great area,” I say, because the silence is worse than the embarrassment. “I'm looking for something better, but I need a few more months of paychecks before I can afford it.”
“How long have you been there?”
“About a month. Since I moved.”
“From Ashford?”
“Yeah.” I watch the city slide by outside the window. “Fresh start. That was the idea, anyway.”
His jaw ticks. “The ex. How long were you together?”
“Three years.”
“And he's been doing this since you left?”
“On and off. We broke up a year ago, but he kept showing up. He was doing it in Ashford, too, and it was hard to avoid him in a small town. That's part of why I moved. I needed a fresh start.” I pick at a thread on my sleeve. “He must have heard I left town. I don't know why he keeps doing this.”
His hands shift on the steering wheel, gripping harder. We're heading into my neighborhood now, the buildings getting older, the streets narrower.
