“So then stay,” he says plainly, like it’s the most logical conclusion in the world.
I’m thinking about how to say something about what’s actually happening to me and why I came to Whispering Grove. How I intended to ask for his help with a situation, when I lift my gaze.
It’s a reflex. I’ve been doing it constantly since I left LA, glancing at doorways, checking windows, remembering who’s where in whatever room I’m in. I didn’t use to be like this. I wasn’t this person a month ago. But the version of me that existed before that night in the hallway outside Daniel’s office,when he was still both my boss at the advertising agency and my boyfriend, seems like someone I knew a long time ago, and this is who I am now, apparently. Someone who can’t get through a café breakfast without scanning the street.
And right now, there’s a man standing to the left of the flower steore entrance across the road.
He’s really big, with a heavy jaw, close-set eyes, and a physical density that takes up space even when someone’s standing still. His coat is dark, his hands are in his pockets, and the snow is coming down around him, yet he’s paying absolutely no attention to it because he isn’t watching the street. He isn’t watching the shop windows or the people passing or any of the things others watch when they’re just existing on a pavement.
He’s completely still and stands out in this small town.
I’ve seen it once before. In the corridor outside Daniel’s office, on a night I had no business being there except that I wanted to surprise him and thought it was a good idea. I had the key. I could hear voices through the ajar door, and I paused in the corridor with my hand raised to knock, but something made me stop, some animal instinct firing before my brain had processed why, and I just stood there in the shadows and listened.
The voice I didn’t recognize was low and unhurried. That was the frightening part, how unhurried it was.
“You need to handle him,” the deep voice commanded. “Or this comes back on you, Daniel. And you won’t like what I do when it does.”
“I’ll deal with that fucker, Thomas Cassidy,”Daniel stated.
I didn’t see the stranger’s full face, only his side profile through the thin crack of the ajar door when he shifted slightly. Dark hair. Strong jaw. Leather jacket stretched over broad shoulders. He stood with one hand in his pocket, a scar down the side of his neck. I stayed frozen in the shadows, staring throughthat narrow gap, and knew with absolute certainty that I needed to get out of that corridor before he ever realized I was there.
I pressed the elevator button and walked inside the second the doors slid open. Just before they closed, I glanced up and saw Daniel step out of his office and look straight down the corridor. Maybe he was only checking the noise. Maybe he didn’t see me at all. But the doors slid shut with his head turning in my direction, and the look on his face sat cold and heavy in my stomach the entire ride down.
Rushing out onto the street, I stood in the night for a full minute before I could breathe normally.
Two days later, I saw the name Thomas Cassidy on the morning news. Found deceased and dumped in a local river. I sat on the edge of my bed in my apartment with my coffee going cold. I read the news three times and thought about Daniel saying that name, quietly and carefully, in that conversation. I thought about “You need to handle him.” I thought about what handling it clearly meant to the man with that voice and that stillness.
Daniel had already called me twice since then. I hadn’t answered. I hadn’t gone into work either. I was still staring at the article when my phone lit up again, this time with a text from Daniel.
I know you were outside my office that night.
My whole body went cold. A second message came through before I could even think.
We need to talk, Adelaide. Don’t do anything stupid. Don’t go anywhere. I can explain everything.
Like he’dexplainedit to Thomas Cassidy?
And then I started making plans to leave, starting with blocking his number on my phone so he couldn’t get hold of me anymore.
I don’t know if the man across the street is the same stranger from Daniel’s office. It was dark, and I barely had more than a side view with shadows. I go completely quiet and glance back at the café table, trembling.
Hannah is cutting a slice of hummingbird cake she ordered into thirds. Chris is saying something about the Saturday market and road closures.
I smile, pick up my coffee, and take a sip. It’s still warm, sweet, and I taste absolutely none of it.
Under the table, my knees are bouncing, and I unlock my phone and type with my thumb, glancing down every now and then.Call me right now. Make it sound like an emergency.
I sent it to Clio, my bestie, who lives in Oahu, Hawaii.
I nod at something about road closures, then accept my piece of cake. I take a bite and tell Hannah it’s incredible, which it genuinely is, and I mean that from some distant part of me that still has access to normal responses.
Outside, the strange man is gone. My heart is beating faster.
My phone rings.
I stare at the screen with a small frown. “Sorry, one second, it’s Clio.” I answer.
Clio says in a fast whisper, “What’s happening? Are you okay? What do I say?”
