Page 58 of Texting Dr. Stalker

“You’re a jackass.” I closed the door on his laughter.

* 17 *

Sailor

Trespassing Guardians

MY HANDS WERE COVERED IN EXTRA VIRGIN olive oil, beeswax, gotu kola extract, orange blossom, and witch hazel by the time X replied fourexcruciatinghours later.

He’d taken so long, I’d had second thoughts about what I’d written. I’d doubted and pouted and driven myself stupid, wondering ifIwas the one who’d stepped over a line whenhe’dbeen the one to drop a phone in my letterbox and barge his way into my life.

Wiping my hands clean, I made sure the empty crystal bottles couldn’t blow off my counter, seeing as I had the kitchen window and door open, then snatched my phone off the dining room table.

X:Sorry I couldn’t text sooner. Had to deal with an emergency.

Wait. That’s it?

I’d panicked all day about the level of neediness in my last message, and I only got a one-line response?

Oh my God, do you hear yourself?

He doesn’t owe you a thing. He doesn’t know you. You don’t know him.

Maybe this wasn’t healthy. I’d somehow latched onto the only person I felt safe and seen with—someone I didn’t have to pretend to be okay with—and I’d made it mean far too much, far too quickly.

You’re cut off starting this very second.

Slamming my phone down, I didn’t reply.

I forced myself to go back to making Nana’s special face cream, absolutely determined to go to the market this weekend and sell like usual. I’d let ourFrom Soil to Soulcustomers down and the amount of internet orders that’d come in meant I had an entire suitcase of product to wrap and drop off at the post office.

My phone chimed again.

And then another little buzz.

Don’t you dare.

I kept ladling the wonderful-smelling mixture into the cut crystal bottles I bought in bulk from a local glass-blower Nana had become friends with a decade ago.

My cell vibrated one last time before falling silent.

As the sun set, I finished the batch of face cream, printed off our special labels listing all the natural ingredients and contact details, then carefully put them in the storage room off the downstairs laundry to cool and solidify.

Every part of me wanted to lunge for my phone, but I forced myself to cook a quick pan-seared fish and head outside to harvest a fresh summer salad. I even made a gooey lava cake in a mug like Pops used to enjoy.

Nightfall had well and truly blanketed Ember Drive by the time I’d punished myself enough, got my head back on straight, and believed I was sane again.

I can talk to a masked stranger without getting weird. I know I can.

My silly heart fluttered as I grabbed my phone and turned off the kitchen lights. Thanks to what Milton had done, I’d stopped going into the living room, but I was being brave tonight.

It was just a couch. Just a coffee table. Just a carpet.

He was locked up. I was here.

No one is going to hurt me.

Throwing myself on the couch, I pulled my legs up, draped a blanket over my lap, and dared to open X’s messages.

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