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I didn’t want him to think I was making some drastic effort on his behalf. He knew I wasn’t going anywhere, so anything I did was for him, so when I got out, I threw my hair in a wet braid, tossed on some shorts and a T-shirt, flip-flops, and lip gloss. No mascara.

I grabbed a bottle of iced coffee from the fridge and left.

It was just the two of us on this floor. Our doors faced each other with a decent-size breezeway between them at what used to be the top of the stairs.

I had seen him a few times on my video doorbell.

He never had girls over. He never had anyone over except for that Gabe guy.

I remembered the first time Seth came hobbling home on crutches a week ago. I actually felt a little sorry for him. He’d been struggling to get his door open while he carried a bag of groceries and I’d almost popped out to help. Then I remembered that’s how Ted Bundy had lured his victims, and I changed my mind.

I felt bad about that now. He seemed nice.

I knocked. A moment later, he opened the door.

“Hi,” I said, smiling like I wasn’t practically a wild animal at this point.

“Hello.”

“I was wondering if you wanted to have some coffee?” I held up the bottle.

His grin got bigger. “Sure,” he said, opening his door and standing back to let me in.

I froze.

Of course he’d invite me inside, it was polite. He was doing exactly what I should have expected him to do upon accepting my offer. Only, I didn’t want to go in there.

I didn’t know him. Zero criminal history did not mean he was safe. George didn’t have a criminal history either—until he did.

I also didn’t want him in my apartment for the exact same reasons.

What if Seth was bad too?

What if I was safe from my stalker at the moment only to be trapped up here with another mentally unstable man who—

“Why don’t we set up some chairs on the landing,” he said, studying me.

“Huh?” I said, snapping out of my spiral.

“The view’s great,” he said. “It’s covered. I’ve got a few beach chairs, we could hang out there?”

He picked up on what I was feeling.

I don’t know how, but he did, and he was giving me an out.

I was beyond grateful.

I looked over at the area between our apartments. It was a great space. Now that the stairs were gone, it was sort of a covered balcony. And he wasn’t wrong about the view. You could see palm trees over the top of the carport. It was nice.

It was outside.

It was a neutral space that felt very nonthreatening.

“Okay,” I said.

I waited while he hobbled in on his boot and procured two blue-and-orange-striped beach chairs. He set them far back enough to keep me from being nervous about the ledge.

The white bucket John had delivered was sitting by Seth’s door. He flipped it over and set it between the chairs as a makeshift table. Then he limped back inside and came out a minute later with two glasses of ice with plastic straws in them.