Like it’s written on my forehead in permanent marker.
"I’ll just finish up here," I mutter, dragging my dignity and my wine into a bag.
As I leave, Chad checks the ID of an actual grandma. And she flirts with him. Of course she does.
Perfect. I’ve officially hit the stage of life where senior citizens get carded, and I get called “Ma’am” before being waved through like expired produce.
Sighing, I sling my grocery bags over my arms and start the three-block walk home.
It's dark. Too dark. I think back on every single conversation Ashton has had with me about the crime podcasts she listens to.
At the crosswalk, someone steps up behind me. My pulse jumps— until I glance back…and see it’s a police officer.
"Ma’am, everything alright?" he asks kindly.
"Sorry," I breathe. "Long night."
“Same for me.” He’s attractive, capable, and strong. He instantly puts me at ease. “Do you need me to walk?—”
His radio suddenly goes off. “10-61.” The voice cracks on the other end. “Copy Officer Hernandez for 10-61.”
“Copy for Hernandez.”
I fade out the rest of his conversation.
He talks some more, then looks over at me. “I have to go. Stay safe, ma’am.”
I wait for the walk sign, then cross quickly, spotting the glow of my building ahead.
Almost there. Except...
It’s him… the man in the fisherman’s hat is pacing outside the front entrance.
Back and forth.
Not going in.
Not leaving. I feel the hairs rise on the back of my neck. I cross the street faster, heart pounding. Don't make eye contact. Don't look. Just get inside.
I push through the lobby doors and exhale — only to hear footsteps behind me.
He followed me in.
A sick feeling settles deep in my gut. He could live here. Or be visiting. Maybe.
But he’s too close. Way too close.
I speed-walk to the elevators, jabbing the button like my life depends on it.
When the doors open, I dive inside and hit a random button — anything.
Six.
Good.
Neutral.
The doors almost close, almost, and then a wrinkled hand wedges between them.
