It wasn’t until I started working at Cantina Joe’s in Hell’s Kitchen last year that I realized how, as long as I worked there, I would probably never feel invisible again. The catcalls I could deal with; it was the constant groping and hungry, lecherous looks that made me start carrying a pocketknife to work. I wasn’t afraid of the customers. I just didn’t trust them. Truthfully, I didn’t trust anyone anymore, least of all myself.

No more than two seconds had passed since I’d clocked in after my last break of the night before Joe was shouting at me from behind the bar.

“Hey, Kris! Table eight needs a pitcher of sandía!”

The bar was small enough that Joe’s resonant voice reached even the farthest corner of the back kitchen. Jesus, our line cook, flashed me a look of pity as I tied my half-apron around my waist and sighed. Jesus felt sorry for me because he knew what I knew. An order for a pitcher of sandía coming from table eight at this time of night could only mean one thing: He was back.

Roger always sat at table eight and ordered a pitcher of sandía, a cocktail made with pureed watermelon, lime juice, simple syrup, and a generous pour of cheap white tequila. It was Cantina Joe’s signature drink, and one of the only things that kept customers coming back for our uninspired small-plate menu. Roger was no exception. In fact, there was nothing he enjoyed more than reminding me how much the food sucked, and how the sandía and my sweet, round melons were the only things that kept him coming back.

Roger was very near the top of my List of Reasons I Wished I Could Go Back to Being Invisible.

I emerged from the back kitchen with confidence, determined not to let Roger get the best of me tonight. The savory smell of fried garlic and peppers transformed into the refreshingly sweet scent of tequila and watermelon. First, I slinked behind the bar with Joe, an imposingly large man with a leathery, red face that looked every bit of fifty-two. My boss cocked a gray eyebrow at me as I swiped my employee keycard on the touchscreen register and punched a few buttons to sign back into the computer system. I called up the order for table eight and changed the server from Joe to Kristin.

Joe nodded toward the counter, where a frosty pitcher of pink cocktail awaited me. Despite tending bar and chatting up drunks for nearly thirty years, Joe was a man of few words when it came to his managerial style. There were times I appreciated this approach, and times like tonight when I wished he’d use that deep bearlike growl of his to eighty-six Roger permanently.

Loading up a tray with the pitcher of sandía, a couple of glasses, a small bowl of lime wedges, and some napkins, I made my way through the maze of bar-height tables to the booth in the corner. Roger sat on the side of the booth facing the bar, so he could watch me as I came and went. His receding hairline and pinched features gave him a mousy appearance, but his faded Mets T-shirt and beer gut made him fit right in with all the other drunks who loved spending their evenings harassing cocktail waitresses.

Another guy at a table on my right held up a finger as I passed. “Can I get another Dos Equis?”

My breath caught in my chest as I recognized the smooth voice, dark hair, and enormous shoulders, which appeared ready to burst through the seams of his expensive suit.

I smiled at Daniel as I tried not to drop my tray. “Sure. I’ll be right back.”

He smiled warmly, the kind of smile people reserved for babies and puppies, and it caught me off guard. My mind’s eye was so focused on replaying the man’s smile, I didn’t see the barstool at the next table until I tripped over it, spilling the entire contents of my tray all over Roger’s pant leg and sneaker.

“Jesus Christ! You idiot!” Roger bellowed, springing out of his booth to shake the pink liquid off his shoe.

“Oh, my God. I’m so sorry. I’ll clean it up,” I said, my eyes pleading with him not to make a scene.

A flicker of arousal lit up his taut features as I knelt down to pick up the tray. “Why don’t you suck my dick while you’re down there and I’ll forget this ever happened?”

“What?” I replied, pretending I hadn’t heard him as I placed the empty pitcher and shards of broken glasses on the tray.

The sudden pain in my scalp burned like someone had taken a blowtorch to it. Roger yanked me up by my dark-brown ponytail until I was looking up at him.

His eyes were wild with lust as he whispered just loud enough for me to hear him over the pop music playing on the restaurant’s sound system. “You heard what I said, bitch. I said suck my—”

Before he could finish, the fire in my scalp was extinguished and Roger was facedown on the floor. Daniel was on top of him, smashing his red face into the sticky, wet terra-cotta tiles.

“Listen to me, you sick fuck,” he seethed through gritted teeth. “I’m gonna give you two fucking seconds to apologize to her, or I will fucking ice you. You got it, motherfucker?”

A deep panic arose inside me. If Joe saw one of our regulars facedown in the spill I’d made, I was going to get fired for this. I couldn’t get fired.

“It’s okay,” I pleaded with Daniel, who seemed to be taking great pleasure smashing Roger’s face into the sticky floor. “He’s fine. I’m sure he didn’t mean what he said. I’ll clean this up and everything will be okay. I swear, everything’s fine.”

“You heard her, man. Everything’s cool.” Roger pushed the words out through the side of his mouth.

Joe arrived as the rest of the bar’s patrons looked on in horror, clutching their glasses of beer and sandía closely. “What’s going on here?”

Daniel growled as Roger tried to get up. “This piece of trash just attacked your waitress. I’m holding him here until she decides how to deal with him.”

Joe turned to me, wide-eyed. “Is that true?” Something in his eyes begged me to tell him it wasn’t true, that one of his regulars wasn’t lying facedown on the floor, in a puddle of cocktails, and about to be eighty-sixed.

I closed my eyes and drew in a deep, sour breath as I nodded.

“It’s a lie!” Roger shouted. “That bitch tossed the pitcher on me—on purpose!”

Joe wanted to believe me and Daniel. I could see it in the disappointed wrinkles around his gray eyes. But he hated the cops as much as any of the drug dealers that lived on my street.

“What do you want to do, Kristin?” he asked, his voice weary. This was serious if he was calling me Kristin instead of Kris.

“I don’t think it’s a big deal,” I replied, my shaky words propelled forth by the fear of losing my job. “He can stay, but I’ll ask Dina to take care of him.”

Daniel looked up at me, unable to disguise his disappointment. “You’re gonna let this fucker get away with that?”

I glared at him. “I need this job, okay?”

I felt as if I were being split in two. One part of me watched powerlessly as this handsome man pleaded with me to stand up for myself, wanting desperately for me to be the kind of plucky waitress he probably imagined I’d be. Another part of me thought of the terrible things I’d gotten away with. Putting up with Roger was just another part of my penance. It was God or the universe balancing the scales.

Daniel didn’t know me. He didn’t know what I was capable of. He didn’t know that I didn’t deserve his pity or his help.

Unfortunately, for some crazy reason, today felt different. Today, I wanted to be the person Daniel wanted me to be.

As I watched Joe helping Roger up off the floor, I slowly straightened my back so I could project my voice over the sound of the pop music. “Get rid of him or I quit.”

Turning on my heel, I left the mess of sticky liquid on the floor, making a beeline for the swinging doors that led to the back kitchen. Passing the line cooks, I burst through the door into the employee restroom and locked it behind me before I dissolved into tears. Sitting on the toilet, tearing off squares of toilet tissue to wipe my face, ten minutes passed before I heard a knock on the door.

“Someone’s in here!” I shouted.

“Kris, it’s me,” a deep voice echoed through the crack in the door. “I eighty-sixed Roger.”

My chest swelled with pride, in myself and Joe, for standing up to that bully.

“For a month,” Joe continued, and my heart sank. “He’ll have cooled off by then. If not, I’ll eighty-six him again. Permanently. I promise.” When I didn’t reply, he knocked again. “Kris, that’s the best I could do… Sorry.”

Standing up from the toilet, I tossed the wad of used tissues into the waste bin and washed up before removing my apron and emerging from the restroom. Joe was still standing there, genuine worry etched all over his wrinkled face.

I flashed him a weak smile. “Thanks for looking out for me, Joe,” I said, grabbing my purse off the hook on the wall. “I have to take the rest of the day off. I’m just…not feeling well.”

“Yeah, of course. You take a couple of days if you need to.”

I nodded as I slung the purse across my body and slunk out the back door. My heart leapt out of my chest as I found Daniel waiting in the alley behind the bar.

“Fuck. You scared the shit out of me,” I complained.

“More than that creep in there?” he asked, sounding slightly annoyed.

I set off down the short service alley toward 47^th. “You nearly got me fired in there.”

“He assaulted you.”

I rolled my eyes as I dug my hand into my jeans pocket until my fingertips hit the warm steel of my pocketknife. “Roger isn’t a rapist. He’s just an asshole who thinks women owe him more than the time of day. He’ll get what’s coming to him, eventually. We all do.”

Daniel kept up with me as we transitioned briskly and effortlessly onto the crowded city sidewalk. “Is that how you thank the guy who gave him what was coming to him?”

I sighed, trying to drown out the voice in my head that was in complete agreement with Daniel’s actions, even if it did put my job in jeopardy. “Thank you, but you really didn’t have to do that.”

He chuckled. “Of course, because, just like earlier today, you were handling the situation so well on your own.”

My jaw dropped and I stopped in the middle of the sidewalk to glare at him. “Listen here, you sexist little shit,” I said, ignoring how his smile widened. “I am not a damsel in distress. I do not need to be saved. If you want to be a hero, there’s an animal shelter six blocks away.”

His smile disappeared. “Listen here, little lamb. I know you’re not lost. But you sure as hell were about to be devoured by the Big Bad Wolf in there. Now, you don’t have to thank me,” he said, taking a step closer so our noses were just inches apart. “But please don’t patronize me. I am not, nor have I ever been, a sexist little shit.” He held my gaze for a moment, then he straightened his back and nodded toward the street. “Shall we?”

We walked side by side in silence until we reached the corner of 48^th and 10^th, when he said, “You’re right, by the way… That guy had it coming. And I’m glad I was there to give it to him.”

I scrunched my eyebrows as I looked up at him. “Why are you following me?”

“Following you?” he replied, looking just as confused as I felt. “I’m just making sure the Big Bad Wolf doesn’t come back for another nip.”

“So, are you gonna follow me around for the rest of my life to protect me from Big Bad Roger?”

He shrugged. “Are you looking to hire a bodyguard?”

I shook my head as I pulled my pocketknife out of my pocket. “This is the only bodyguard I need, thanks.”

“Whoa, whoa. Put that thing away,” he said, clasping his large hand softly over mine as his eyes scanned the intersection. “You never want to advertise you’re carrying a weapon. It’s like challenging thieves and rapists to a duel. And trust me, they’re probably carrying something with a lot more punch than that puny thing.”

“Are you calling Laser puny?”

The light turned green and he laughed as we stepped into the intersection to cross. “You call your knife Laser?”

“He may be small, but he’ll cut you with precision,” I replied, tucking Laser back into the warmth of my pocket, then sliding my bus pass out.

“You’re headed for the bus stop?” he asked as we approached 49^th.

“Yeah, how’d you know?”

He shrugged. “Wild guess,” he said, pointing at the MetroCard in my hand. “You don’t trust men, do you?”

My eyebrows shot into the stratosphere. “Uh…a bit of a loaded question for strangers, don’t you think?”

He flashed me that warm, almost paternal smile again. “Not exactly strangers anymore. Are we, Kristin?”

“Do you always answer a question with a question?”

“Do you?”

I nodded as I took a seat on the bench. “Should have seen that coming.”

He flicked an intense look at the homeless guy standing a few feet away, then he took a seat next to me. “Let me give you a ride home.”

I held up my MetroCard. “I’ve got that covered, thanks.”

Before Daniel could reply, the transient snatched the card out of my hand and took off down 10th faster than Usain Bolt on steroids.

I grabbed Daniel’s arm before he could run after the guy and tackle him the way he did Roger. “It’s fine. He won’t get far with what’s left on it.”

Daniel took a couple of deep breaths. “You need a bodyguard,” he replied, glancing at my hand gripped tightly around his solid forearm.

I quickly let go. “Nope, but I guess I do need a ride now,” I said with a sheepish grin.

He shook his head. “Just you, or Laser too?”

“We’re a package deal.”

He sighed as he stood from the bench. “Well, then, it would be my pleasure,” he said with a slight bow. Then he bent his arm, holding out his elbow for me to slip my arm inside his. “Shall we?”

I hesitated for a long moment, staring at the crook of his elbow as if it were the edge of a cliff and I was about to plunge off headfirst. I hadn’t been with anyone—not even a random Tinder date—since that night. It was hard to meet guys when you had no more friends. I got plenty of invitations from men at the cantina, but I had a rule that I didn’t date customers. Daniel certainly didn’t look like our usual clientele. I was certain he went to Cantina Joe’s tonight looking for me.

I felt as if I’d been staring at his elbow for ages, when I finally stood up and hesitantly slid my arm through his.

He flashed me a reassuring smile. “You surprised yourself.”

I rolled my eyes, trying to downplay the truth in his words. But I couldn’t bring myself to spit out a sarcastic retort. At the moment, I was focusing so hard on just trying to breathe, I didn’t think I could remember my name if I were asked.

Soon, the nervous energy melted away and we walked in comfortable silence as we headed back toward the bar, as if we had done this a million times before. Just another night out on the town for Daniel and Kristin. I didn’t know if it was a good thing that being near him made me feel safe. What if I was being lulled into a false sense of security?

Suddenly, I became painfully aware of how we must look together.

Daniel was so polished in his expensive suit, chiseled features, and perfect hair. My perfect hairstyle that I’d spent almost an hour on had become so frizzy that I’d had to put my hair up in a messy ponytail halfway through my shift. I didn’t imagine my drugstore makeup was holding up very well against the onslaught of the summer humidity. I was wearing my Cantina Joe’s uniform: frayed jean shorts and a red T-shirt featuring the restaurant’s logo. I may have felt, for a brief moment, as if walking down the street arm-in-arm with Daniel was something we’d done a million times, but to everyone else we probably looked like a rich businessman and a prostitute.

I quickly yanked my arm out of his. “Sorry, I…I think my phone is vibrating,” I lied as I dug through my purse for my phone, letting out a phony chuckle as I pulled it out and the screen was pitch black. “Guess not.”

Luckily, we were less than a block away from the cantina, so the awkward silence that followed my fake phone call didn’t last long. Daniel’s gleaming black Range Rover with heavily tinted windows was parked on 47^th.

“Now I see why you were so reluctant to take the bus,” I remarked, eyeballing the flashy SUV.

He opened the passenger door for me. “It’s a company car,” he replied, looking flustered for the first time since we’d met.

“Company car…for a company you own, right?” I said, but he didn’t respond as I slid onto the supple perforated leather seat. “What do you do for a living?”

He tilted his head as he looked down at me, as if the answer to this question was plainly obvious. “I’m in finance.”

“Finance?” I replied, cocking my eyebrow. “Is that code for something?”

He smiled. “What? I don’t look like your average Warren Buffett wannabe?”

I nodded. “Answering another question with a question. I think I’m beginning to see a pattern. Either you’re stalling for time to come up with a lie, or you’re one of those people who are obsessed with privacy. Should I be worried?”

“Only if you’re one of those people who like to tell everyone your life story within the first ten minutes of meeting them. Are you one of those people?”

“Absolutely not,” I replied.

He shrugged his massive shoulders. “Then we’ll get along just fine.”

He closed the car door and the sounds of the city faded away into a silent and dark realization. If I wasn’t working, I should go home. I should go home and thank my mom for the shampoo. It was such a thoughtful gesture, and I was repaying her by taking a night off.

Daniel slid into the driver’s seat. “Where to, princess?”

“I thought you got my address from the receptionist.”

“The night is young,” he replied in that smooth voice as he tapped his steering wheel. “And this thing doesn’t turn back into a pumpkin for a few more hours.”

I searched his gorgeous face for any indication he meant me harm, but all I saw was a genuine guy who seemed to want nothing more than to give me a choice: go home or go for a ride.

I looked him in the eye. “What’s the best place to go in Manhattan if you want to disappear?”

His smile dimmed a bit as he seemed to recognize my reluctance to go home might have less to do with wanting to spend time with him and more to do with a need to escape whatever was waiting for me at home. “That’s easy, the Botanical Gardens.”

I drew in a long, deep breath, then let it out slowly. “Let’s disappear.”