“Where’s your stalker today?” Dane slides a plate of burger and fries across the bar. The pendant light above his head glints off his shit-eating grin. He grabs my cola and refills the empty glass without breaking eye contact.

I ignore his razzing and glance toward the stage as a guy taps the mic and perches on a stool, ready to croon to the diners. Dane teasing me about a stalker makes me think about my pain-in-the-ass ex, Tori, who turns up like a bad penny. The thought of her could ruin my meal. I’d rather talk about anything else. “Since when do you have lunch entertainment?”

Dane gives the guy on stage his attention for all of a second before looking at me. “Yesterday. So you’re interested in the music lineup now? Quit changing the subject. I’m talking about your personal fan club. The chic who watches you like you’re the last donut in the case. I told you man, she quizzed me about you yesterday after you left. But I didn’t divulge confidential information. My lips are sealed. I’m like an attorney. Or a bartender or a therapist.”

Dane’s stalker comment isn’t too far off. Not that I’m actually worried about the blonde who seems to be everywhere I go. Still, it’s weird, and my run-ins with Tori have me on edge. The first time, it was the eerie feeling of being watched that made me notice her. I was checking my post office box and the blonde was at Letters Express, where I check my mail for the Mr. Expose blog. I smiled at her and she looked away.

The second day she was there again. And every day that week. I shake my head. Shit. Soon, I’ll be thinking my entire life is a conspiracy theory and women are the archenemy.

“Earth to Leo. Come in, Leo,” Dane says. “If you want me to introduce you, I can. That’s if she comes in again.”

“Not interested.” I wish my words were the truth. I am interested, but there’s something about her that’s too intense. Too knowing. Her moss green eyes seem to look straight into my soul.

And I need a breather from intense.

Dane glances toward the door. “Yup, there she is. Just a little late today,” he says in his drawling Southern accent that charms all his customers. He wipes the very clean bar in front of him and watches one of his waitresses walk a menu and the girl over to a table in the corner.

My shoulders tense. I resist turning to look at the blonde. I’ve watched her plenty over the past two weeks and maybe she’s thinking I’m the creepy one. “Poker at your place this week?”

“Eight o’clock. Bring some pretzels or something.”

“Sounds great.”

Dane lowers his head, pretending to read a newspaper he picks up from the counter. “Don’t look now, but the stalker hasn’t taken her eyes off you since the minute she walked in.”

“Quit looking at her and stop with the stalker talk,” I mutter and take a bite of my burger.

He chuckles. “She’s hot. She can stalk me anytime she wants.”

I finish swallowing before I answer. “If you’re so into her, why don’t you give her your number?”

“Because she’s all about you, you dumb shit.” Dane’s eyebrows draw together. “But you’re going to let one bad relationship hold you back.”

“No.” I wipe my hands on a napkin. “We’re not going there. I’m not discussing my dating life with a dude who thinks speed dating is a way of life. You could be with the girl you really want, if you’d quit chasing skirt.”

Dane’s mouth opens as if he’s going to say something, then stops. His eyes narrow and he shakes his head. Luckily, the sound of acoustic guitar prevents us from continuing the conversation. He shifts his attention to the musician.

I glance from the small stage near the windows back to Dane and nod approvingly. “Dang. He’s good.”

“Thought I’d try some live music for the lunch crowd,” Dane says. He looks over his shoulder at the waitress to his right. “What you need, hon?”

She holds out a sheet of paper. “The delivery guy is at the back door unloading. Sign the ticket.”

Dane takes the delivery slip from her, signs it, and hands it back. She doesn’t move. “Need something else?” he asks.

Now, I realize she’s smiling at me. “Leo, I was just wondering…want to go to a concert with me tomorrow night?”

I give her a regretful smile. “Sorry. Poker night.”

“Come on. You can play poker anytime.” She tilts her head and raises her eyebrows in a beseeching pose. “I have a friend who can come along. She’s really freaky, if you know what I mean.”

Freaky. I must be waving a freak flag lately. “Well, that’s sweet and all, but I have to pass.”

“I’m anything but sweet,” she answers with a glint in her eye.

Dane’s lips quirk at the corner and he points toward the back. “Delivery is waiting.” After the waitress leaves, he leans on the bar. “You turned down a threesome. Are you insane? There’s something seriously wrong with you.”

I take an extra-large bite of burger and turn to watch the musician on stage.

Dane’s not deterred by my lack of interest. “Leah’s never asked me to get it on with her and a friend. You have that whole sensitive thing going on. Girls love that shit. You probably read them poetry while you—”

“Ignoring you now.” I grab my plate in one hand and my drink in the other. “I came in to eat, not be lectured by the guy who woke up last week without his wallet and keys and called me to pick him up at a strange girl’s house.”

“Touché.” He says. Then he adds, “You need to get laid. Obviously.”

“Whatever, man. See you tomorrow night. I won’t be in for lunch.” Then I turn and scan the room for an empty table. There’s a table for two far from the blonde, so I make my way to it.

From the corner of my eye, I’m aware that she watches me. I can feel her gaze prickling along my skin like a sunburn. I’m tempted to look at her and raise a confronting eyebrow.

I make sure I’m seated facing the door where I won’t miss my sister when she arrives. She finally enters at half-past noon. I’m taking the last bite of my burger when she plops into the seat across from me and grabs a few french fries from my plate and dredges them through my ketchup.

“What’s up, brother o’ mine?” Josie says around a mouthful of food.

“Are you on time anywhere?” I push my plate to the middle of the table so she’ll stop reaching across to grab more fries.

“Customer kept chatting me up at the store. Couldn’t get away.”

“I don’t believe that for a minute.” Josie’s the most talkative person I know. Her customer at the bookstore was probably trying to get away from her.

As far as twins go, we couldn’t be more different physically or socially. Her hair is dark and mine light. She makes friends with strangers everywhere, and I don’t like people much. Josie’s life is one happy ride with the wind blowing through her hair.

Mine’s been filled with the wind knocking me down.

“What do you have to do to get a waitress around here?” Josie frowns as she grabs my glass and takes a drink. “Be right back. I guess it’s self-serve.”

Josie makes her way over to Dane, who’s standing behind the bar. I watch them flirt with each other in the comfortable way they’ve been playing at all year.

The place has filled with lunch customers and I wonder about the girl in the corner. I casually turn to see if I can catch her in my peripheral view, and see the table is empty. She’s always popping up and then disappearing when I look for her.

* * *

A week later, I’ve given up on seeing the girl again. It’s odd that I’ve found myself looking for one particular blonde in this city’s sea of beautiful women. But really, it’s only curiosity because I like to figure out people’s motives.

Did she want a one-night stand? Do I look like her last boyfriend? Is she planning to stab me in a dark alley and harvest my organs for a black market price?

I walk into the Letter Express store where I rent a post office box and there she is. I stare at her as she turns the key to her box. She’s wearing shorts today. My gaze slides from her legs up to her hair pulled into a little perky ponytail.

The door opens again and a little boy runs inside with his mother chasing him. The toddler squeals and smacks into the back of the blonde’s legs, pushing her against the metal mailbox wall.

Her stack of mail avalanches to the floor. The mother pulls her kid away. “Sorry about that.” She drags her kid away by the arm without even offering to help pick up the mess.

My box is on the opposite side of the store, but I make my way over to her before I can question my own motives.

Curiosity has always been my strongest and worst personality trait. “I’ve got it.” I bend to pick up the envelopes. There are at least twenty bills strewn around her feet.

She tucks a strand behind her ear and kneels to pick up the nearest mail. “Oh, thanks. This is crazy. I just moved here and all my mail must’ve forwarded at once.”

I reach for a large manila envelope and she’s grabbed for the same package. We don’t say anything for a second.

She hasn’t looked up at me yet, and when she does, there’s a blush to her cheeks.

I glance at the name on the envelope as I pass it to her. Mrs. Wesley Wade. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.” Her voice is low and husky and shy.

“Anytime.” We’re both still kneeling even though we’ve picked up the mail. At this close proximity, I notice all the things I couldn’t see from across a room. Amazing eyes, full bottom lower lip, creamy skin. Too bad she’s married.

What an asinine thought. It’s a good thing she’s married. In fact, the Mrs. in front of her name is a stabbing reminder that I’ll be staying far away from her.

I get to my feet after staring into her eyes far longer than acceptable. I blame it on the incredible flecks of green in her eyes that make me think of cool water running over the rocks of a spring creek. I hold out my hand to help her to her feet and give her a friendly smile.

She takes my hand and rises. Her touch is silky but her grip firm. “Thank you. Have we met before?”

Is that a pickup line? Because she’s been stalking me. Or watching me, maybe. “I don’t think so.”

“Oh.” She hugs the envelopes to her chest. “Are you sure?”

I get an uneasy feeling in my gut. The kind of intuition private investigators must have when something isn’t quite jiving. “I’m sure. Have a good one.” I turn and leave without even checking my box or offering my name. She’s married and might be interested, since she seems to be wherever I turn. In my book, married is equivalent to carrying the black plague.

My apartment building is a good mile from Letters Express. I could have mail delivered to my building, but I keep the box for business purposes. The walk always starts my workday with a way to clear the morning fog in my head. My routine gives me the illusion that I’ve walked to work when I return to my home office.

I skip the coffee this morning. The married blonde has wrecked my routine.

My loft apartment is located in what was once the old fire station. It’s a historic renovation, part of an initiative to keep buildings alive through the decades.

The outside of the fire station looks much the same as it did a hundred years ago. Weathered red bricks on the outside have been carefully restored instead of replaced. I know from talking with the contractor that restoring costs a lot more than replacing. The bottom floor houses a pastry shop owned by a couple of guys who moved from Rhode Island earlier this year.

I enter the back stairs that lead to the two apartments on the upper floor. The heavy metal door to the apartment squeaks as I open it, and I make a mental note to add WD-40 to my shopping list for the week. The smells of vanilla and cinnamon waft up through the vents and I’m glad I don’t have a sweet tooth. Otherwise, living here would be insane.

Tossing my phone onto one of my few pieces of furniture, an antique architect’s desk, I walk to the kitchen to make a drink. Since I’ve missed my mandatory coffee run, I grumpily search through a cabinet to find my coffee press and a tin of coffee.

I’m so wrapped up in putting a tea kettle of water on to boil and measuring out coffee that I almost miss the sound at my door. The door literally dings like a bell when anyone raps on the steel surface, the acoustics sending sound high into the hallway ceiling.

“Coming.” I stride over and open the door, hoping my new stereo speakers have arrived. Instead of the delivery person I expect, it’s the woman from this morning.

I stand speechless as I take her in. Did she actually follow me home?

“Can I help you?” My automatic response is a stupid thing to say, like I’m offering her customer service.

The blonde licks her bottom lip and smiles nervously. “You’re Leo Jensen.”

“Yes.” An unpleasant feeling jabs me in the gut. Dane probably gave her my name after all. I can’t really be upset at him since he doesn’t actually think she’s stalking me. But showing up at my place crosses the line. Of course, stalking does too.

She looks past me into my apartment. “Can I come in?”

“I’m sorry.” I cock my head to the side and squint at her. She’s a piece of work. I step outside into the corridor and close my door behind me. “I don’t mean to seem unfriendly, but is there a reason you’re here?”

“Oh, I’m…well…” Her cheeks flush a deep pink. “James and Erik told me your name. I’m Harper.” She holds out her hand.

I stare for a second, but good manners prevail. “Nice to meet you,” I say and give her hand a quick shake. “What can I do for you?”

“I wanted to meet you before I move in.” She tucks the same strand of hair behind her ear and points across the corridor to the door opposite mine. “Here.”

“I didn’t realize they intended to rent it. So, you…” Actually, I’d assumed my bakery owner landlords wouldn’t rent to anyone after the year of complaints they’d had about the thugs who lived in the apartment across the hall. They’d even mentioned using it for storage.

There’s a good ten seconds of holy shit silence while I wonder what to do about this situation.

She gives me a tight-lipped smile. “Well, I should let you get back to work. Just wanted to say hey to my neighbor.”

“Oh yeah. Neighbors.” I nod. The teapot on the stove begins to whistle and my cell phone rings in a duet of interruption. “Sorry, I—”

She raises a hand in a wave. “No, it’s fine. I’ll talk to you later. I’ll be right,” she points across the hall, “there.”

Harper pivots and takes four steps across the hallway. Throwing one glance over her shoulder before she twists the knob, she beams at me. Like she has my number and can tell she’s freaking me.

She’s attractive and scary as hell at the same time.

Fuck my life.