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“Yes.”
The blunt admission sends a chill through me.
I stop several feet behind him. “That’s stalking.”
“I know.”
“You watched me leave work?”
“Yes.”
“Go home?”
“Yes.”
“When I went out with friends?”
His jaw hardens. “Yes.”
I remember nights when I thought I saw his truck parked down the street. A dark shape beneath a broken streetlamp. Headlights appearing in my rearview mirror and disappearing whenever I turned.
“You were outside my apartment,” I whisper.
“Yes.”
“How often?”
He looks down.
“Samuel.”
“Most nights.”
The answer should send me running.vInstead, it awakens every lonely evening when I sat beside my window and wondered why a man I truly wanted had disappeared without saying goodbye.
“You could have knocked.”
“No.”
“Why not?”
“Because I didn’t trust myself.”
“With what?”
His hands curl against the mantel.
“With you.”
Heat rises beneath my skin.
I step closer. “You said you wanted me. I already know that.”
“No.” His voice is rougher now. “You don’t.”
“Then explain it.”
He turns.
