Chapter 5
Logan
Any time of day and night. That’s what she said. I wipe a tear from the corner of my eye, trying to control myself. God, I can’t remember the last time I laughed so hard. It’s so fucking funny that this girl, whose house I break into every time I can get away with, would offer me this. If only she knew.
But she doesn’t, and it has to stay this way. I sober up, giving her one last grin. Her eyes go a little glassy, her lips parting, and I wonder what she’s thinking. I’m ready to bare my soul to her and tell her everything she wants to know, apart from my stalking habits.
Yet what about her? Will she tell me the truth? I am in a position to know without a doubt, because I know everything about her.
I pull the notebook closer and write, “Do you have a boyfriend?”
Her eyes widen when she reads my question. “That’s one way to change the topic,” she says with a chuckle.
I arch an eyebrow. So?
“I don’t.” She looks away. “It never works out, you know? They either outgrow what I can offer or get offended when I cut a date short because I get a call about an injured cat. Or they move far away. My dating life has been a tragedy of errors.”
She gives me a rueful smile, and I get up, getting two wine glasses and a bottle of Moscato. It’s her favorite.
She laughs when she sees it. “Is that your way of saying you want me to tell you all about it? Fine, but don’t hesitate to stop me when I bore you. By the way, I love this wine. What a coincidence!”
I turn away to hide my smile. Nothing is a coincidence. And even though I never dreamed that she might end up in my house one day, I still have fantasized about it enough for it to affect my buying habits.
Her favorite colors, favorite wine, favorite music… I’ve surrounded myself with the things she likes in a hopeless attempt to feel closer to her. Now I think that it wasn’t very smart. What if she realizes something is wrong? What if she finds my to-do list or a pair of binoculars? I have three, each perched on a windowsill facing her house.
My hand trembles, and I knock over a wine glass with a loud clink. Emma jerks. She’s not as relaxed as she seems, then. I release a long breath, shooting her an apologetic look.
“Happened to me plenty of times,” she says with a shrug and a warm smile.
And don’t I know it? She often knocks things over and spills tea or coffee, and I’d like nothing more than to be the one privileged enough to clean up her messes. But that will never happen. She might be here, smiling at me with those perfect lips, but this won’t lead to anything more.
She’s too good for me. A girl like her won’t deign to be with someone like me, a mute creep who does nothing but watch her all day and night.
Though… Maybe, if I could speak…
My eyes flick to the hall, where I keep the mask for emergencies. It’s a simple black one that covers just the lower half of my face, and I’ve put it on a handful of times. Wearing the mask allows me to speak, but it comes at a cost.
No, I can’t risk putting it on around Emma. Not when I’ve been so out of control with her.
I hand her the wine and nod. Talk to me.
And she does. She holds back nothing, telling me her story with humor and cheer, until I am completely charmed. I listen, my chin leaning on my fist, and take in my fill of her. It finally clicks into place.
She’s at my home. She’s here because she wants to.
And she’s completely honest, filling in the details my cyber sleuthing had no way of discovering. Like the fact that she expected Marc to propose when he broke the news he was moving away, and how that made her feel.
“I realized I was terrified he’d whip out a ring. I was so relieved when he said he was moving to the other side of the country,” she says with a laugh.
Whenever I see an opening to glean information without being suspicious, I ask her questions and she answers happily. Does she enjoy her job at the library? Didn’t she think of moving out of the town herself, since her parents made the move a few years ago to help out with her older sister’s three kids? Will she visit them this Christmas?
“I thought about it,” she says, swirling her wine. “Last year, I hired a pet sitter and flew over to Boston to see them. This year, I’ve put it off and off. My mom asked me a few days ago when I was coming, and when I said I didn’t get a ticket yet, she just said okay. I’m kind of looking forward to having a quiet Christmas. What about you?”
I shrug. “I have two brothers and a sister, and all will spend Christmas with my mom. The house will be wild and out of control with all their kids running around. I like the idea of a quiet Christmas, too.”
Plus, my obsession won’t let me leave even for a day. I go where Emma goes. It’s really fortuitous that she decided to stay home this year. Finding a place to rent with a good view of her parents’ house on the outskirts of Boston would have been a pain. I know, because I already looked.
We eat her muffins, and I tell her how much I love them.
“These are so good. Thank you, neighbor. You have no idea how much I appreciate it.”
She smiles with pleasure and gives me a long, hooded look. Her mouth is soft, her plump lower lip a bit wet. I swallow with difficulty.
“Tell me something about you. Something trivial. Like, what do you do? Do you work from home?”
I shake with silent laughter, and she makes a sound of mock outrage. “Come on, stop laughing at me! It’s a normal question.”
I grab the notebook and explain. “I’m laughing because you want to know what I do for a living and also for the answer to be trivial. They are mutually exclusive. I can tell you, but you have to swear to keep it a secret.”
Her eyes grow wide after she reads my answer. “What, are you a spy? A secret agent? A gentleman thief? Tell me! My lips are sealed, I swear.”
I release a long breath and start writing. I suspect she’ll leave as soon as she learns the truth. That’s okay, though. I got to eat her muffins and I’ll visit her again tonight. This day is already a hundred times better than all the others.
“I steal cryptocurrencies. They aren’t as secure as people think, and if you know how, you can skim from the top without being caught. After I came home from Yemen, I had a lot of free time and nothing to do. I taught myself how to hack into crypto accounts. So not a gentleman, but yes, I’m a thief.”
Her brow furrows while she reads my words. I drain my wine glass and sigh, feeling sad that she’ll stop being my friend now. But we were never meant to be friends in the first place.
My job is to protect her, and that includes saving her from me, too.
The silence between us grows heavy. I know Emma’s read my honest reply at least three times, and still, she won’t look up. My heart squeezes painfully. I can lie to myself all I want, pretending this is what has to happen, but I already know it will fucking hurt to lose her.
“You do realize you’ve just done something totally irreversible?” she asks, looking up.
I flinch. There is a soft smirk playing around the corners of her mouth, and despite her ominous words, she doesn’t seem scared or judgmental. I cock my head to the side. What?
“Well, when I came in here, we were merely neighbors. Then we started talking, and you learned my most embarrassing stories. That made us good acquaintances. But now, you trusted me with a secret that could actually put you in jail. Do you know what that makes us?”
She grins, and my head starts spinning. This is all wrong, and I don’t know what’s happening. Puzzled, I shake my head.
“The best of friends!” Emma exclaims, laughing. “Come on, let’s take a best friend selfie!”
Suddenly, she’s at my side, her arm around my back, her hair tickling my cheek. I hunch to be closer, since she’s so short, and the stool I sit on is high. My head keeps spinning faster and faster as I breathe in her scent and feel the weight of her small palm on my shoulder blade.
“Say ‘secret’!” she orders me with a laugh.
I press my lips together, tentatively putting my arm around her when she takes shot after shot of us, our faces so close together, mine bewildered, hers delighted. Her skin is a bit darker than mine, her eyes brown where mine are blue, and we clash and yet look so perfect together.
All too soon, she pulls away, and I clench my hand into a fist, bidding it to remember the touch of her soft, warm body that I felt through her sweater.
“What’s your number? I’ll send them to you.”
I write it down for her, and that’s how we exchange numbers. It makes me dizzy. I had her phone number before, of course, but now I have it with her knowledge and permission. It feels so much better this way.
“So, what are you doing tonight?” Emma asks, her eyes sparkling with joy.