“Hey, Jessica,” says someone behind me. The voice sounds familiar. I can't quite place it, but it makes me want to start running away and pretend I didn't hear anything.

“Oh, hi, Steve.” The worst Tinder date ever. I immediately regret my decision to obey social conventions and respond when someone calls my name.

“What a coincidence. I’ve been trying to reach you,” he says as he stands a little too close to me on the sidewalk, in front of the biggest grocery store in town.

I don't think it counts as a coincidence when everybody runs into everybody else all the time here, but okay. I muster up a smile and say, “Yeah, I’ve been really busy.”

“I need to talk to you about something. It's really important.” Steve drops his voice to a low, conspiratorial tone. What could he mean?

“I, uh, I should run. I have a yoga class to catch.”

“Oh, at the Namaste Studio?”

“Yeah.” I frown. Jacob told me Steve's not dangerous, but I wonder how reliable Jacob's information is. Maybe Steve has been stalking me. “How did you know that?”

“Oh, I just dropped my mom off for the five o’clock class. The instructor’s late, by the way. Fifteen minutes. So you have no excuse.” Steve laughs nervously. “I was just sitting there in the cafe behind you when I saw you walk by. Come join me for a few minutes.”

“Oh, I don't know. I like to come early to class and reserve my spot on the floor,” I say.

“Not a problem. I’ll text my mom and ask her to save you a spot.” He pulls his phone out of the pocket of his undersized dress pants and starts typing. Without looking up, he says, “Like I said, you’ll regret not talking to me when you have the chance.”

Okay, I'm not imagining that, am I? That sounds more like he's threatening me, not asking me out on a second date. Maybe Jacob's wrong and Steve’s not harmless after all?

“Come on, we're losing precious time just standing here.” Steve pulls me inside the coffee shop with his clammy hand.

He's being pushy, like there's a lot at stake. This is not normal behavior for a guy who's asking a girl out after a mediocre first date. He could be just a creep, or he could be trying to blackmail me, thinking I’d do anything for him to not tell Stan about me. Either way, there's only one way to find out.

This coffee shop seems like as good a location as any to have a conversation. It's definitely public enough that someone would come to my rescue if I seemed to be in distress. I hope Jacob's right, I hope Steve is harmless.

“So, what's up, Steve?” I take a seat across the small table from him.

“How are you, Jessica?” Steve shifts in his chair. He looks nervous, beads of sweat forming on his forehead.

“Good, Steve. How about yourself?” I smile, sitting on the edge of my seat, eager to find out what he has to say.

“Great. Never been better.” He wipes his forehead with a paper napkin. “How's your job?”

“It's good,” I say. “Thanks for asking.”

Jesus, this conversation is painful. It's decidedly underwhelming so far. It reminds me of language textbooks, like we're acting out a scene from a textbook for people learning English as a second language.

“As we discussed last time, you don't make much as a high school teacher, right?”

“Right.” Seriously, he's going to start with that?

“What if I told you there's a way for you to make a lot more money?”

There it is. I bet he's going to offer me some cash if I cooperate with him and give myself up to Stan—or to Stan’s men, most probably, since he’s still in jail now.

Maybe this is a good sign. Maybe Stan doesn't want to kill me after all. Or maybe the innocent man in front of me has no idea what Stan does to people who cross him, what Stan wants to do to me.

“Go on,” I say.

“I have something to tell you. Now, before you say anything, I ask you to please try and keep an open mind. The plan I’m about to tell you is going to change your life, but only if you let it. Please hold your judgment. Don't let suspicion kill your chances. Trust me.” Steve looks straight into my eyes and holds my gaze. He's being serious. This is a grave matter.

“I’m listening,” I say. I'm not going to be the idiot who believes Steve won't sell me out to Stan just because he tells me to trust him. But he looks so earnest I can almost believe he has my best interests at heart.

“Many people who started out skeptical have found success with this method, so you can rest assured that it works.”

Okay, what? Many people? Does he often come across people like me, who are running away from dangerous criminals?

Have I accidentally stumbled upon a professional who could help me disappear from Stan’s radar for good? But how does me making money even factor into that?

“Steve, I don't think I understand,” I say, a frown forming on my forehead.

“You’ll understand as soon as I explain it to you. You seem like a smart girl. That's why I think you’ll make it. You’ll make it big.”

“Make what?” I'm lost.

“Make a good living for yourself,” Steve says cryptically. “Don't you want to get married, have children, and grow old?”

“Well, I haven't thought much about it.” I frown. Is he saying I’d die before I get a chance to do any of those things if I didn’t cooperate?

“When you have children, you’ll want a job that lets you spend time with your family and pays you well, right?”

“Well, of course. But I don't see how this has anything to do with—”

“Don't worry,” Steve says, cutting me off mid-sentence by pressing his cold, clammy index finger on my lips. “I have the answer to your question, the solution to your problem. But first, would you agree that everyone cares about their health?”

“Sure.” I hate the roundabout way Steve’s talking, but I get the feeling this will take less time if I just shut up and listened.

“They do, and they're willing to spend money to make sure their families are as healthy as they can be. Which is why I find it so easy to distribute Vita-ments. These babies sell themselves.”

“Sorry, vita-what?”

“Vita-ments. Vitamin supplements. I'm making thousands of dollars a month just selling them. The hours are completely flexible, so you can do it on the side while you teach, and ramp it up when you're a stay-at-home mom.”

Ah, I get it now. I’ve heard the same sales pitch before. The people are different, the products are different, but it's the same sales pitch. I'm almost ashamed I didn't realize it sooner.

“So this whole time you’ve just been trying to sign me up to your pyramid scheme?” I challenge Steve directly.

“No, Jessica. You don't understand.” Steve chuckles nervously. “It's not a pyramid scheme. There are products—good products—that we sell. A pyramid scheme doesn't have good products.”

“Look, Steve. I'm sure you mean well, but I really don't have any spare time to be spent on something like that,” I say in an attempt to let him down easy.

“That's the beauty of the system. You can put in as little, or as many, hours as you want. That's one of the big reasons why—“

“Sorry, Steve. Hold on.” I check the screen of my phone, which is ringing for real this time. It's only Christine and it's probably not important, but I can use this to get away. “I have to take this call, and our fifteen minutes is up. I’ll see you around, okay? It was great seeing you.”

Before Steve can say anything, I press the Accept Call button and bring the phone to my ear. I say “hello” as I get up and walk out the coffee shop, waving at Steve, who slumps in his chair with a miserable expression on his face.

It's not that I don't feel bad for him, but what am I supposed to do? I have my own problems to worry about.

Luckily, Christine has impeccable timing. “You’ve just saved me from a horrible date,” I say into the phone.

Christine laughs. She asks, “Are you going to the meeting this week?”

“Yes. At Sarah’s place, right?”

“That's the one. I hate to ask, but please remember to bring my casserole dish. It's my biggest one and I use it a lot.”

“Oh, of course. I'm sorry. I would've brought it to your house right away if I’d known. I never even cook at home,” I say.

“Don't worry about it. I know you have another task so I didn't want to trouble you.”

“Another task?”

“Yes, opening the door for Bertha’s repairman.”

“Right. That hardly counts as a task, Christine.”

“You remember the date and time?”

“Of course. Next Wednesday at four. Hey, I'm sorry, I have to go. My yoga class is almost starting,” I say when I reach the entrance to the studio.

“Okay, honey. See you soon, hopefully with my casserole dish,” Christine jokes before we hang up.

Ah, small towns. So weird, with their not-so-eligible bachelors and adorable old ladies. I love it here in Ashbourne, and I hope I won't have to leave any time soon.