Chapter 12
Alice
"So… Alicat?" Madison grins from her spot on my couch, laptop balanced on her knees. "Are you and Sawyer a thing yet?"
I groan, pulling my legs up under me in the armchair. “Madi, don’t start.”
“I’m just saying.” She closes the laptop and gives me her full attention, “he said he would’ve waited for you to wait on him.”
“He needed help with his transaction,” I defend, even though my cheeks are warming.
"Oh yeah, a three-dollar deposit is so complicated that you're the only one qualified to handle it." Madison raises an eyebrow.
I reach for my tea mug, using it as a shield. “We’re just...friendly.”
“Friendly.” She nods sagely. “Is that what we’re calling it nowadays?”
“You’re so dramatic.”
“But I’m always right.”
I throw one of the couch pillows at her, and she dodges it with a laugh. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re smitten,” she shoots back, settling deeper into the couch cushions. “Which, by the way, is about time. You deserve someone who focuses on one person at a time. Especially one that looks good in uniform.”
“And how would you know?”
Madison gives me a pointed look. “Because I have eyes, Alicat. The man practically couldn’t keep his eyes off you at the Cozy Cup.”
The nickname makes me smile despite myself. I still can’t believe Sawyer picked up on it and ran with it. Most people just call me Alice or Ali, but something about the way he says Alicat makes it sound different—special somehow. And I usually hate that nickname even when Madi uses it.
“He’s probably just nervous or something,” I say, but even I can hear how unconvincing I sound. “I mean, his wife died a few years ago.”
She stretches her arms above her head. “Face it, babe. You’ve got a legitimate admirer.”
My phone buzzes against the coffee table, interrupting whatever response I was about to give. I glance at the screen and see an unknown number.
“Another spam call?” Madison asks, noticing my hesitation.
I shake my head, opening the message. The words make my blood run cold.
Unknown Number: That green sweater was always my favorite.
I look at the window. The curtains are open. Anyone outside could see in.
Could see me sitting here in my green sweater.
My hands start to tremble.
I'm wearing my green sweater right now. The one I wore to work today.
The one I'm wearing in this room, right now, as I read this text.
“Alice?” Madison’s voice sounds far away. “What is it?”
I stare at the screen, my mind racing. How would someone know what I’m wearing right now? Are they watching the house? Can they see through my windows?
“Alice, you’re scaring me. What does it say?”
I delete the message quickly, my fingers unsteady as I press the buttons. “Wrong number.”
Anyone could have seen me wearing green. Through a window. From the street.
But my hands won't stop shaking.
"You just deleted it." Madison's voice is flat. "You never delete spam texts. You just ignore them."
“It’s nothing, really.”
“Was it Lance?” Her voice goes sharp. “Alice, if he’s bothering you—”
"It wasn't Lance." I set my phone face down on the table like it might bite me. “Just some spam text trying to get me to click on a link or something.”
The lie tastes bitter.
Madison doesn’t look convinced, but she doesn’t push. Instead, she moves from the couch to sit on the arm of my chair, wrapping an arm around my shoulders.
“You know you can tell me anything, right?”
“I know.” My voice comes out smaller than I intended.
The thing is, I do know. Madison has been my constant through everything—the breakup with Lance, moving here, starting over. She’s the one person who never made me feel like I was crazy or dramatic. She would go ballistic if she saw this text.
But this text feels different. More personal. More invasive.
The green sweater. Right now. What I'm wearing right now.
Someone is watching me. Through my windows. Can see me sitting here.
My skin crawls.
“Want to watch some trashy television?” Madison asks, reaching for the remote. “I vote for something with no plot and makes zero sense.”
“That sounds perfect.”
She scrolls through options while I try to focus on the TV screen, but my eyes keep drifting to my phone.
I get up. Check the front window. The street is empty. Check the side window. Nothing but darkness. I pull the curtains closed, but it's too late. They've already seen me. Someone had to be there. How else would they know?
What if he's watching me right now? He doesn't know about this house. He can't know about this house.
I pull my sweater tighter around myself and try to focus on whatever mindless movie Madison has chosen. But all I can think about is someone out there in the darkness.
Watching my house.
Knowing what I'm wearing.
Knowing where I live.
I should've told Sawyer the truth. I should've asked for help when he offered it.
Because I'm definitely not fine.
And now I don't know if it's too late.