On Sunday morning, I wake up at ten a.m.

I blink a couple times when I look at my clock.

After my date with Damien, we cuddled and watched a movie before he had to go meet up with a friend later that night.

I crashed at nine last night, and slept thirteen hours.

Damn. I haven’t slept that long since I was in college. Since I met Nick. I sit up in bed and stretch. Come to think of it, from the moment we got together, I always slept lightly.

Maybe it was my sweet release last night—physically and mentally. Telling Damien my secret about being with a girl in college felt freeing. Although it was a cover-up for the secret I didn’t want to tell him. Date number one is too early for that, right?

Just then, my phone buzzes on my nightstand, and I shudder instinctively. Anxiously, I check the name and I'm relieved when it's Damien and Not Nick.

Damien: I know you're working tonight but I'd love to see you this afternoon.

Krista: I'm around until six

Damien: Late lunch early dinner then? how is three?

Krista: Perfect. I’m cooking food so come by

Damien: Oh wow you really are sweet aren’t you?

I blink at the text I sent Damien, and I realize I've made an error. "I'm cooking some food so come by," read one way, sounds like I'm thrilled to host him.

Not that I don’t mind hosting him, but I more meant to say "I'm cooking some food for the week, so if you're okay with eating baked egg quiches, come on by and I'll make one extra.”

I have a rule about dating. It’s weird, but I don’t usually cook for guys until we are serious. Once they try my chili, they are hooked.

And I want the chili to be a reward, not something that ropes them in.

I rally myself out of my room and check inside my fridge. There's creamer and some leftovers from the breakfast I had on Friday. Well then. Looks like I'm taking a trip to the grocery store.

I hop in my trusty 2003 toyota Corolla and head to Mariano's, the grocery store on the west side about a mile from my place. In the car, I turn on the radio to an oldies station, and the song Secret Agent Man comes on.

My grip on the steering wheel tightens, and I tune out the sounds of the city on this cloudy grey day. Anxiety builds in my chest as I wonder about my own secrets. Since Nick and I parted ways, Damien is the first man I've let near me physically. But also psychologically. I can feel my walls coming down around him. That scares me a little.

The way he looked at me last night, asking me to tell a secret, I thought he might not even judge me for the darkest part of my past. He has a shadowed past of his own, and it seems like he can relate quite well to me. It's something I haven't brought myself to tell a soul, not even my best friend.

Yet for some reason when Damien looks at me with those tragically sexy kind eyes, he softens me. He makes me feel something that, romantically speaking, I haven’t felt in a long time: hope. I come to a red light and smile. The very fact that he’s willing to wait to have sex, ironically makes me want him all the more. The way I held his arm last night while I—

The car behind me honks loudly, several times, shooting me out of my daze.

Geez, asshole.

You didn’t even let me finish my quick pleasure flashback.

I turn left and pull into Mariano’s. Inside, I think about what to make. For some reason, when I think of cooking for Damien I want to impress him in a weird way. And making basic baked egg cupcakes doesn’t seem very impressive. I settle on getting the ingredients for chili. That way I can cook something delicious for the night and still have leftovers for the week.

Walking through the store, I gather the necessary items. Tomatoes, beans, garlic, an onion, ground beef.

My phone buzzes in my purse and I smile, thinking of Damien. We’re starting to get onto the same wavelength. He knows I’m thinking of him, I bet.

My heart about drops to my knees when I see the text.

Nick: Looks like someone is eating good tonight

My heart speeds up an extra twenty beats per minute. “What. The. Fuck,” I mutter out loud.

Krista: This is it. I’m blocking you. Sick of your shit.

Nick: Sure. Block me. It won’t matter though

Anxiety filling me, I click on options for Nick’s number and block it. I don’t know how he figured out I’m in the grocery store, but this sort of stalking is crossing the line. I turn down the aisle for spices, and pick up the cumin. Just then, I hear someone walking behind me, and a hand falls on my shoulder. I jump.

It’s Nick.

“What the fuck are you doing here?!” I belt. I knock over a few of the spice containers.

“Did you have a good date with your plumber yesterday?” Nick asks in a low voice, ignoring my question.

My hand with the cumin shakes. I glance around the aisle, but there’s no one here. I grab hold of my cart and start walking. Nick tries to block me but I push him aside. He gets in front of my cart and holds it.

“You gonna answer me?” he arches an eyebrow my way.

“Why should I? You never answered me. Let go of my cart, please,” I say firmly.

Inside, I feel my frustration with Nick turning to rage. I’m done with him. I’m so done.

“I’m going to need you to stop seeing him in any way, shape, or form,” Nick says, holding onto the cart with all his might so I can’t pull it away.

“Nick. You listen here.” I step away from my cart and get right in his face. My voice is as sharp as a knife. “We used to be a thing for a long time. I gave you many chances. Many. You blew them all. It’s best for both of us if you just move on. You’re not getting anywhere with me. And being stuck in the past is no way to live your life. It’s over between us.”

He nods, then smirks. “So that’s how it’s gonna be?”

I nod. “I’ve been nice to you for a really long time. I’ve tried to be a friend to you. But this isn’t working. So we’re done talking. Don’t contact me.” I pull out my hand and start counting on my fingers emphatically. “Don’t text me, don’t email me, don’t DM me. Don’t write me, and fucking especially—don’t stalk me at the damn grocery store when I’m trying to live my life.”

Nick starts laughing, and I’m confused that my words aren’t having their intended effect.

“No,” he says.

“The fuck you mean, no? I’m not asking. I’m telling. If you don’t, I’ll be taking legal action.”

He leans toward me, lowering his voice. “If you do not stop seeing him, I’ll be sending him this.”

Pulling out his phone, he presses play on a video.

I hold my stomach. Suddenly, I feel sick as I watch the clip. “Nick. No.”

I lunge for his phone, but he holds it out of my reach.

“Nah ah ah,” he says. “Not like I don’t have a bunch of copies of this video anyhow. But I’m going to need you to stop seeing your plumber—I mean landlord, Damien Davenport—ASAP. Or else he sees the video. One way or another, Krista, this relationship isn’t going to make it. You know it. So you might as well tell him off on your terms.”

I seethe with anger. “You wouldn’t dare.”

He cocks his head. “I could dare. And you know it.” Letting go of my cart, he turns. Before he walks off he adds: “You always were so good about picking out food. By the way, let me know when you’re ready to get back together. You’re really looking hot again these days.”

He turns and goes.

I’m left, one tomato less, grinding my teeth with my pulse speeding.

Damien might not judge me for a lot of the things I’ve done—like having a fling with a girl in college.

But I can’t let him see that video.