Page 71 of He Sees You When You’re Sleeping

Chapter Twenty-Six

Jack

I’ve looked at the text exchange far too many times. I’m trying to not overanalyze or read into it too much, but it’s hard to resist.

Me:Chinese food and movie tonight? Your place or mine?

Chloe:Uh . . . tonight? sure. My place works.

What does the... mean? Why didn’t she capitalize the s in sure? Maybe she’s just busy and distracted. Or maybe she’s not really excited about our plans. The “Uh” feels hesitant, like she’s trying to come up with an excuse. Now I’ve worked myself into a frenzy over two tiny punctuation marks. Or the lack thereof.

My thumb hovers over the call button. I could just ask her directly if everything’s okay. But what if I’m being paranoid? I don’t want to come across as needy or insecure. Or maybe what the real issue is that I know I need to come clean and tell her who I am. Tell her what I’ve been up to the past two years.

I lock my phone screen and toss it onto the couch, trying to push the nagging thoughts from my mind. But they creep back in, persistent as ever. The truth is, I’m terrified of how Chloe will react when she learns about what I’ve done. Will she understand why I had to watch over her—from afar? Or will she feel betrayed, scared, creeped out and call the police to report me as the stalker that I am?

I pace around my apartment, my mind racing. The walls feel like they’re closing in, reminding me of all the secrets I’m keeping. It’s still too early to head over to Chloe’s for our date, but I can’t wait around any longer. I’ll make a stop at the florist before I pick up the Chinese food and get her something. Something that might soften the blow of my confession.

I grab my keys and head out, my stomach churning with anxiety. The late afternoon sun setting feels too bright, too exposed. I squint as I make my way to my truck, constantly glancing over my shoulder out of habit. It will be dark soon. But not dark enough for me to hide in the shadows like I’m used to.

The florist’s shop is a riot of colors and scents. I wander the aisles, touching petals absently as I try to decide. Roses feel too cliché, too romantic for what I’m about to do. Lilies are too funeral. My eyes land on a poinsettia. On theme for the night, friendly, unassuming. Perfect.

Back in the car, I place the plant carefully on the passenger seat. The Chinese restaurant is busy, filled with the sounds of sizzling woks and rapid-fire Mandarin. I give my name for the pickup order, then wait, shifting from foot to foot.

My phone buzzes. It’s Chloe. Don’t forget the hot mustard. Nothing screams getting in the holiday spirit like cleaned-out sinuses.

I text back, Will do. See you soon. I add a smiley face emoji, trying to keep things light.

The woman behind the counter calls my name, handing over two large paper bags. The smell of garlic and ginger wafts up, making my mouth water despite my nerves. I ask for extra packets of hot mustard, remembering Chloe’s text.

As I drive to her house, my mind races through different scenarios. Should I tell her everything right away? Or ease into it over dinner? Maybe I should wait until after the movie. But no, that feels dishonest somehow, like I’m trying to manipulate her emotions.

I pull up to Chloe’s house, my hands shaking slightly as I gather the food and flowers. The porch light is on, casting a warm glow over the front steps. I take a deep breath, trying to steady myself, before ringing the doorbell.

Chloe opens the door, her smile bright and welcoming. “Hey, you’re early! Come on in.” She’s wearing a soft-looking sweater and leggings, her hair pulled back in a messy bun. She looks beautiful, and my heart aches with the weight of my secrets.

“I, uh, brought you these,” I say, thrusting the poinsettia toward her awkwardly.

Her eyes light up. “Oh, how festive! Thanks, that’s so sweet.” She takes the poinsettia, her fingers brushing mine for a moment. “Let me put this down and we can dig into that food. I’m starving!”

I follow her into the kitchen, setting the bags on the counter.

“Nice place,” I say. That’s what someone who’s never been in the house would say, right? I’m trying to play it cool, and to be normal, but I feel anything but.

“Thanks. It was my parents’ and then it became... thanks.”

As she fusses with the poinsettia, I start unpacking the containers of food. The familiar routine feels surreal, knowing what I’m about to do.

“So, what movie did you want to watch?” Chloe asks, her back to me as she arranges the plant.

Okay, I’ll tell her after dinner and the movie. No sense in ruining the entire night.

I hesitate, my hands pausing over the containers of fried rice and kung pao chicken. “I didn’t actually pick one out yet. I thought maybe we could choose together? Only rule is it has to be Christmas. No Scrooge allowed, remember.” I give her a smile and it feels good to release some of my built-up tension.

Chloe turns around, a playful smirk on her face. “No Scrooge, huh? Well, that rules out Die Hard then.”

I chuckle, grateful for the moment of lightness. “Come on, that’s totally a Christmas movie!”

“Agree to disagree,” she says, reaching for the plates in the cupboard. “How about It’s a Wonderful Life? Classic, heartwarming, and definitely Christmassy.”

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