But the woman is still standing there, watching me as if we’re friends and she knows I’ll return. Rascal tugs on his leash, trying to run toward me. He yaps twice. As much as I can’t help but think he’s talking to me, I turn back around and exit the park. Blending into the crowd on the sidewalk, my mind files through everything from the list pinned to my fridge to the fact that my hard-earned watch is somehow a part of this witchcraft.
Giving my watch another once-over, I twist the crown for the hell of it. I stop and blink once in disbelief because the hands are now rotating as if nothing happened. What the hell?
I start walking again and pull my phone from my pocket to check the time because I legit think I’m going insane. Tapping the screen, it reads 9:24. Until now, I’ve never had issues with my watch. I need to send it to get fixed and forget about this nonsense.
I may be rushing, but since when is that a crime? I slow, wondering why I’m getting dirty looks. “What?” I ask, throwing my arms out and staring down a man who raises his nose in disgust.
An older woman behind me pinches her nose. “You smell like shit, young fellow.”
Oh shit. I look down, remembering the dog doo smeared across my nice white shirt. I shake my head. It’s gross, but the world will survive, although I’m thinking my shirt won’t.
I’m already making quite the impression in my first few weeks in the city. I could be mad, but I’m not that bothered by people avoiding my personal space, to be honest. Straightening my shoulders, I walk like I don’t give a shit or have it on me.
But then I hear a familiar bark and turn back. The woman from the park rushes toward the nearest shop as if I didn’t just bust her for following me. “What are you doing?” I ask. “Are you stalking me?” I might be jumping ahead of myself, but better to settle it now. A lot of weird stuff was happening at the park. Is she to blame?
Despite Rascal’s joy to see me, obstinance stiffens her shoulders, and she scoffs. “You wish.” Her hand flies out. “It just so happens that I’m walking in the same direction. So what?”
“Defensive,” I reply, analyzing her body language. Crossed arms. Straight line across her lips. Half-mast eyelids as she glares at me.
“I’m not defensive. I’m offended. You just called me a stalker.”
“My bad.”
“You’re bad, all right.” She angles her chin up, and adds, “You can go about your day now.”
I’m tempted to chuckle, but I’m thinking it’s wise to restrain myself. “I will. Good day.”
“Good day, sir,” she says to my back as I walk away.
I stop again, but this time, I don’t look back. Forcing myself to walk forward, I continue through the upscale neighborhood to the next block. I busy my attention on the architecture until I hear Rascal bark again.
I knew I shouldn’t have talked to a stranger. She may be hot, but she could also be deranged, using her dog as a ploy to trick her next victim to her lair. What am I even talking about?
When I turn back this time, she sidles quickly up to a coffee shop window, pretending to know the people sitting on the other side.
By how they turn their backs to her, they don’t reciprocate. “Nice try,” I tease.
Glancing at me, she huffs. “I’m walking in the same direction. It’s no big deal, for God’s sake.” She punctuates the words with an epic eye roll as if I’m putting her out. Huffing, she grabs Rascal, clutching him to her side.
“His feet have—”
“Shit.”
“Exactly.”
Anger fills her chest, and she shakes her head, exhaling it loudly with a foot stomp. “Ugh! I’ll go this way.”
As. If. I’m the nuisance.
Me?
Why am I even sticking around to have this conversation? Why am I bothering? Going in different directions—that’s us. She crosses the street, and I turn the corner, both of us heading back to our own lives and hopefully never seeing each other again.
I continue toward the building up ahead alone. I’m good. I’m fine. Alone is how I thrive. I’ll be here a year or two. That’s nothing. I have plenty of work to keep me busy.
Work.
I’m here for work. That’s it. I have a plan in place, and nothing and no one will keep me from achieving my goals. I’ll go in, change my shirt, and get to the office.
The doorman opens the door for me and nods. “Welcome home, Mr. Christiansen.”
“Thanks, Gil.” When he coughs, turning his head away from me, I ask, “Is it worth noting I’ve had a shitty morning?”
“It was noted the moment right before you arrived.”
Funny guy.
2
Juniper “Juni” Jacobs
It’s not the first time I’ve been called a stalker . . .