I wear a soft white blouse and navy dress pants for my Oltek interview. My hair is pinned into a round bun on the top of my head worthy of any ballerina. Red is my best color, but I read somewhere it’s too aggressive for interviews. The rest of my closet is made up of a juvenile assortment of denim, tees, and chunky cardigans I can roll up at the sleeves. This outfit is the best I have, crisp and professional, creating the illusion that I’m more put together than I feel.

As I head to the building downtown, I try not to think about last night or what it means. It’s a new day.

Outfit. Hair. Interview questions.

I fill my mind with these mundane things to escape the terrifying realization that someone tried to break into my house. If I go there, my calm goes out the window, and I’ll blow my interview. I desperately need my calm today.

Bright colors from one of my favorite art galleries catch my eye. Slowing my steps, I linger in front of the shop window for a few moments to admire the work. Hilda, the owner, sees me and waves. I’ve been here so many times she recognizes me. “Mon chéri,” she calls in her native French, holding the door open. “Come here. You must come inside.”

I check the time on my cell. “I’ve actually got to be somewhere—”

“The artist you’ve been asking for—I have one of his works!”

“Torin?” I ask, surprised. “I thought you said he passed away.”

I found Hilda’s shop by chance on my way to meet Ethan for lunch a few months ago. There was a particular style of paintings that caught my eye, the artist a renowned local known as Torin. He was homeless, always on drugs, but on the off chance he was sober, he created beautiful but often dark works of art.

Torin’s paintings are so powerful; the ones I’ve seen always stir something inside of me. I tried to buy one with the money I had left over from my college fund, but they had all been sold. Hilda told me to keep checking back. Whenever the guy ran out of money, he’d sober up and start painting again. She promised I’d be the first to know when she received a new piece.

Every week I stop in on my way to meet Ethan, but she never has any new paintings. A few weeks ago, she told me Torin overdosed, and this time it was fatal. The news crushed me. What a waste of such a talented man’s life.

“Yes, Torin is gone, mon chéri.” Hilda grabs my arm and leads me to the back of her studio. “But I’ve been on the lookout for anyone selling his work. Word of mouth spread, because I received a package yesterday morning.”

“From who?”

“No idea,” she says. “It was just sitting there in a cardboard box. Poof. Like magic.” She holds up her hands for emphasis.

Like magic.

Nuh-uh.

I don’t believe in magic, coincidences, serendipity—none of that crap. Especially not after last night’s literal wake-up call. “Sorry, you’ll have to find another buyer. I can’t take the painting.”

“But I was not planning to charge you. Clearly someone meant for you to have it.”

I firmly shake my head. “I appreciate the gesture, Hilda. I really do. But I simply…can’t…oh my God…”

There are no words.

Dark, glimmering shades swirl out at me, and I immediately recognize Torin’s style. The painting beckons me from its easel. Like a magnet, I’m drawn closer, my mouth partly hanging open.

The scene is set at night in a back alley, everything below dark and murky with hard angles and edges. There’s a suspended, drunken state of terror inside of it. Then as my eyes drift up, the starry sky opens, dancing in shades of midnight blue and violet, softened by a glowing moon. There’s hope in the sky. I can almost see Torin lying there in that alley, surrounded by all the hurt and pain of life, and then looking up at the sky with a renewed sense of peace.

It’s so beautiful; my eyes are stinging. My throat closes up. This is the most gorgeous Torin I’ve ever seen, and…

I. Want. It. So. Much.

“I’ll take it,” I say, knowing I’ll regret it forever if I don’t.

This painting may have come from a deranged stalker, but I don’t care. When I gaze at it, I see a piece of myself on the canvas.

I can’t leave myself behind.

* * *

“How did the interview go?” Ethan asks the question while his eyes wander around the Oltek lobby. He waves to an older man in a business suit exiting the elevator. Then he nods to the blonde receptionist sitting at the front desk. Everyone who works here seems to know my boyfriend. I’ve never really noticed until now.

“I think I did okay.”

He leans in to kiss my cheek. “I’m sure you knocked it out of the park. You never do anything less than perfect.”

My nose twitches. His over-confidence turns up the pressure, and I think back on my interview questions, wondering if I did, in fact, answer them perfectly. I’ve never applied for a job outside of Penelope’s before, but I took a class on interview etiquette in college.

One of the interview questions stumped me though. An easy one, too.

Why do you want to work here, Amelia?

Oltek is a great company, exceeding in innovation, consumer satisfaction—

No, that’s not what I mean. Why do you personally want to work here?

I struggled to think of what to say.

I’d already given the interviewer a list of my accomplishments. We talked about why I’d be a good fit. But she didn’t want to hear about why I’m a good choice. She wanted to know why I want to work there. And for the life of me, I couldn’t come up with one good reason.

I mumbled some bull about my desire to incorporate my passion for numbers inside the dynamic of a great company, and she seemed to buy that. I think.

“You look nice,” Ethan says, brushing the sleeve of my blouse.

“Thanks. So do you.”

He looks the way he always does. Sandy brown hair combed back, button-up, slacks, and brown leather Oxfords.

Ethan’s fingers travel up my sleeve again. He lightly traces the collar of my shirt, stopping right over my breastbone. “You know, if you already worked here, we could find an empty office, lock the door, and—”

I clear my throat. “Ethan.”

Most people would assume we’re lovers in every sense of the word. But we haven’t taken the relationship that far yet. We started dating casually during my last semester of college; I was solely focused on graduating. Then just as things were getting serious, my grandmother died. After that happened, I just couldn’t bring myself to go there. I told Ethan he’d have to wait. I thought he’d break up with me, but to his credit, he’s been extremely patient. Eight months is a long time to wait for your girlfriend to give it up.

There’s a security guard standing next to the entrance. I catch him staring at us, quickly averting his gaze. My eyes drift to the blonde receptionist. She’s on the phone, but she’s also looking in our direction. I don’t like the way either of them were looking at us, at me, already linking me to Ethan. Branding me.

The conversation with Tess comes to mind, and I’m suddenly questioning all of this. Being here. The interview. Everything.

“Are you sure this is a good idea?” I shuffle my heels against the marble floor. “Me working here?”

Maybe Tess was right. Oltek is a huge company, but what will people think when they find out I’m dating the owner’s son? And what if Ethan and I actually do break up?

He pulls away, gauging my expression. “Where is this coming from?”

Good question.

I mean, I like the guy, he checks all my boxes as a boyfriend. Nice. Career driven. Attractive. He pulls out doors and chairs for me, does all the chivalrous stuff girls melt over. Gran liked him, which is important, because she didn’t like many people. She hated my high school boyfriend, Noah, and most of my friends, too, now that I think about it. But Ethan, she went gaga over.

Still…

I’m not sure it means he’s my forever. He doesn’t give me that gut feeling. The one you get when you know something is right.

I decide to be honest. “What if something happens to us?”

He grins, showing off his perfect pearly whites. “I don’t know about you, but I’m in it for the long haul. Trust me, everything will work out fine.”

Relief fills my chest, snuggling me like a warm blanket. That was the sweetest, most perfect thing he could’ve said—

“Besides, you can’t work at that little café forever.”

I flinch.

Leaving Penelope’s behind was in line with my own thoughts, but hearing him say it doesn’t sit right, like my current job is beneath him, and ruins everything he just said. It’s okay for me to think it, but not him.

“What’s that?” he asks, changing the subject.

I look down at the wrapped canvas I hauled with me, propped up against the wall because it’s so huge. Hilda offered to have it shipped, but I didn’t want to wait. “A painting for my new apartment.” My lips curve into a smile, and I start to tell him about the Torin, until I notice the way he’s fidgeting with his watch and keeps looking around as if he’s uninterested. Art really isn’t his thing. He’s all about numbers, quotas, and growth charts. Boring stuff. So I drop the subject.

“Do you have time for lunch?”

I want to tell Ethan about last night’s attempted break-in, but not here in the Oltek lobby. Even in the light of day, surrounded by people, I still feel that strange sensation of being watched.

“Sorry, I have a meeting in five minutes. I only came down to see how your interview went.”

“Oh. Okay.” I can’t help the disappointment in my voice.

Ethan notices. He strokes my hair, his lips grazing my forehead. “Dinner tonight?”

I nod. “Sure.”

“A celebration dinner. Your first real job.”

“A little premature, don’t you think?”

“You kidding me? It’s in the bag.” He walks toward the elevator, winking as he leaves. “I know people, remember?”

He makes it sound like he’s teasing, but he’s very capable of pulling strings. One call to his dad wouldn’t take much effort. I don’t know whether to feel relieved or disappointed. Until now, I hadn’t realized how much it meant to do this for myself. What happened to forging a life on my own?

After leaving Oltek, I walk down the busy downtown street in a daze, lugging the Torin under my arm. My new apartment is on the bay, and I know the perfect spot to hang this bad boy. I’m supposed to sign the lease and get my keys tomorrow. After last night, I’m not wasting any time moving in.

Tingles spread over my skin as I’m waiting for the crosswalk. The weight of someone’s gaze travels over my body like a cool breeze in the middle of a sauna. Instantly, I become hyper-aware of my surroundings.

This feeling is becoming all too familiar. My breath grows shaky. I look around, but there are too many people. Too many eyes. No way to know which ones are watching. Cars come to a halt, and the crosswalk turns, but I don’t move. The countdown comes on display.

Fifteen. Fourteen. Thirteen…

I stay where I am, digging my heels into the concrete sidewalk. Everything I’ve been forcing myself not to think about is invading my mind. Last night replays over, and this time I see it happen from outside of myself. Whoever is following me might be trying to help, but they’re doing more harm than good.

I’m fed up. I’m mentally exhausted from the constant paranoia. This has to end, because I can’t stand feeling this way another minute.

Ten. Nine. Eight…

I could simply walk out into the street while the cars are moving. I’ve seen it play out in movies. The girl gets her shoe stuck in the busy street. The hero jumps out to save her. If my stalker sticks to their track record, they won’t let me die. They’ll be forced to come out of hiding.

Four. Three. Two…

Then again, there’s always the chance I don’t actually have a stalker, much less one that cares about my safety. Tess could’ve been right about the stress getting to me.

No.

I don’t believe that. Not after last night.

The crosswalk displays a red hand, and the cars start to move again. As they pick up speed, my thoughts fall out of my head, one by one. The sane, practical version of myself leaves my body, replaced by a girl I’m unfamiliar with. Whoever she is, she’s got some big balls.

I take a single step.

The road is clear; this is my chance. Stepping with purpose, I make my way to the middle of the road, then pretend to drop my packaged canvas. Deliberately slow, I bend down to pick it up.

There’s a semi headed my way. I gulp, seeing it from between my legs, but pretend not to notice.

I can get out of the way in time.

At least that’s what I tell myself. But if my stalker doesn’t show themselves soon, I’m in big trouble.

Oh, who am I kidding? I’m an idiot, and I’m probably going to die. This isn’t a leap of faith—it’s suicide.

Ah, there I am. The real me is back; the girl with the big balls has vanished.

Clutching my painting, I straighten to full height. The semi is coming straight at me, and now there’s a sedan in the other lane. Both vehicles are headed here way too fast.

Time to end this little experiment.

I will my legs to move, but I’ve turned into a paralyzed statue. No matter how hard I strain my muscles, they don’t seem to work anymore. Holy shit—I didn’t count on that happening. Come on feet, move! But they’re like bricks, refusing to budge.

Brakes squeal.

Horns blare.

My heart drums frantically inside my chest.

Oh, God. This is it. I’m really going to die here on this crosswalk.

The only thing I can do is close my eyes.