My heart races, and I have a slight issue swallowing. What if I have a stalker? I’ve seen some of the comments left on ChatGram. They’re lewd and somewhat troubling. I’ve heard stories of stalkers finding out where people live and how presents start showing up at your place. Personal safety is one of the first things they teach us—never give out personal information. But with the internet the way it is, you can find just about anyone these days. This stupid piece of paper, which could be harmless, makes me wish I had a fake name, something I chose not to do because I like the puns that came along with Autumn being a weather anchor.
“Pull up your big girl panties, Autumn.”
Except my pep talk does nothing for the lack of courage I feel right now. If this note is threatening, there are video cameras in the halls and by every entrance. For the most part, my building is very secure, and I can’t imagine someone would risk coming in here to leave me a stupid note.
Slowly, as if the paper is going to bite me, I lift the edge and bend to read the words. “Can you . . .” is all I can make out until I lift it more. Inhaling deeply, I hold my breath and move the flap higher. “To my apartment when you get home. The code is 54845—Julius.”
I exhale in a loud, obnoxious way. “I’m going to kill him,” I say to the empty hallway. Why would he do this to me?
Because he wants to see you.
I open the door, close it behind me, and pull my phone out to read his messages. The first one is a lengthy, heartfelt apology, or at least it seems that way. The couple that follows is him asking me to call or text back, and the last is him saying he left a note on my door and not be afraid when I see it.
He knew how I’d feel.
I don’t know why, but my heart swells with this knowledge. Julius is looking out for my well-being, despite everything. I don’t change my clothes or text him back. He doesn’t need to know I’m on my way up because I might change my mind halfway there. I also don’t know what the hell I’m doing right now, except this amazing man, who I’m crazy for, wants to see me. Never mind that it’s almost midnight, and he has children sleeping in his apartment who have school in the morning. He, himself, should be sleeping since I know he gets up with them and takes Reggie to school before going to practice. He shouldn’t wait up for me. But he has because he wants to talk, and that says volumes to me. He meant his apology—I can feel this in my gut.
My nerves are on edge as I raise my hand to knock on his door. My knuckles never make it to the wood, though, because the door swings open, and I jump.
“Hey,” Julius says with a smile that makes my knees weak, and I have to place my hand on the door jamb to keep myself upright. He reaches for me and puts his hand on my hip. “Sorry for scaring you.”
He did scare me, but I feel like my heart needed a reset so I could see what’s in front of me. Is Julius worth the headache he gave me the past few days? I think he might be.
“Come in.” He opens the door wider and sweeps his arm out. At first glance, his apartment doesn’t seem like it should be in this building. Gone are the basic off-white walls and the beige-colored carpet. Julius takes my hand and gives me a tour. His walls are rich with color. Blues and reds dominate the living area, while a soft yellow with hints of lavender makes his kitchen feel like sunshine and warmth. Down the hall, the walls are adorned with pictures of his family. From floor to ceiling, nothing but smiling faces, funny poses, and poignant moments.
“This wall is amazing.”
“I wish I could take credit for it. Elena did it.”
The mention of his wife, rather ex-wife, gives me pause. I don’t know the rules for dating a married man that is going to file for divorce. Is going to but hasn’t. What am I doing here? I shouldn’t be with a man who can’t decide on whether he wants a divorce or not, and I don’t . . . no, I refuse to be the other woman. He has children he needs to think about.
I glance at Julius and smile softly. It’s not forced, but it also doesn’t come easy because I have a knot in my stomach the size of Texas. “You said you wanted to talk,” I remind him.