Page 28 of He Sees You When You’re Sleeping

As I push open the heavy wooden door of The Rusty Nail, the familiar scent of beer and fried food greet me. It’s busy for a weeknight, the low hum of conversation punctuated by occasional bursts of laughter. I make my way to the bar, squeezing into an empty spot.

“What’ll it be?” the bartender asks, wiping down the counter.

“Whiskey, neat,” I reply, surprising myself. I’m usually more of a fruity cocktail kind of girl, but I can’t exactly order a pina colada and sound cool, and tonight calls for something stronger.

The bartender nods and pours me a generous measure. I take a sip, wincing at the burn. As the warmth spreads through my chest and kills every single germ I may or may not have had in my body, I scan the room, half-hoping to see a familiar face and half-dreading it.

No one is here. Just me. Alone.

But that is when the door opens and snow comes flurrying in, followed by a tall figure in a dark coat. My heart skips a beat as I recognize the silhouette. Jack.

He stamps his feet, shaking off the snow, and looks around the pub. Our eyes meet, and for a moment, I’m frozen. Should I wave? Pretend I didn’t see him? Before I can decide, he’s making his way over to me, a hesitant smile on his face.

“Hey,” he says, sliding onto the stool next to me. “Fancy meeting you here.”

I try to keep my voice casual, despite the butterflies in my stomach. “I uh... do you come here often?”

He shakes his head, signaling the bartender. “I’d like to tell you this was a coincidence,” he begins with a smile, “but I actually saw you walking in here from across the street,” Jack admits, a sheepish grin on his face. “I was on my way to ice Mr. Haven’s walkway. I hope you don’t mind me joining you.”

My heart races at his confession. He saw me and decided to follow? Part of me is thrilled, but another part is wary. After all, I barely know this man.

“No, I don’t mind,” I say, trying to sound nonchalant. “It’s nice to see a familiar face.”

Jack orders a beer and turns to face me fully. “Cheers,” he says as he raises the glass.

I clink my glass against his, the whiskey sloshing dangerously close to the rim. “Cheers,” I echo, taking another sip. The alcohol is already starting to dull the edges of my anxiety, but Jack’s presence brings a new kind of nervousness.

“So,” he says, his eyes gleaming in the dim pub light, “what brings you out on a night like this? Escaping the holiday madness?”

I laugh, but it comes out more like a nervous titter. “Something like that,” I reply vaguely. How can I explain that I’m here drowning my sorrows over a potential career-ending mistake in my secret online life? “Needed a change of scenery, I guess. What about you? Isn’t it a bit late to be shoveling snow?” I pause and decide to ask something that has been bothering me ever since I came home and saw the snow removed again. “You didn’t by chance shovel my walkway yesterday?”

Jack’s eyes widen slightly as he lowers his beer. “Ah, you caught me,” he admits with a sheepish grin. “I hope you don’t mind. I was already helping Mr. Haven and decided to do yours too.”

My heart flutters at his thoughtfulness. “That was really sweet of you,” I say, feeling a warmth that isn’t just from the whiskey. “Thank you.”

He shrugs, looking almost embarrassed. “It was nothing, really. I like helping out where I can.”

There’s a pause as we both sip our drinks, the noise of the pub swirling around us. I’m hyperaware of how close we’re sitting, our knees almost touching.

“Funny story,” I add. “When I came home yesterday and saw it done, I started to really feel I may have a stalker. A snow-shoveling stalker.”

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