Page 24 of Watching Ames

I started there, poking my head in doors looking for the familiarly pinched face of Irene, until I found what I assumed was the main bedroom. It was a wide space, with just a king-sized bed and a matching dresser, made of the same stained wood of the front door and the stairs. I walked past the bed, peeking into the oversized walk-in closet, seeing a rack of suits hung along one wall, the other half of the closet empty as if waiting to be filled.

I made my way toward the attached bathroom, finding the bathroom of my dreams. I thought back to my conversation with Alex, where I listed off a variety of ideal must-haves, and mentally added this exact bathroom to that list.

The first thing I saw was the large soaking tub taking up a good portion of the left half of the bathroom, a black faucet matching the black tile that lined the floors. The vanity was made of the same wood as the bedroom furniture, topped with light-colored sinks and more black faucets, a toilet tucked into a back corner behind a free-standing wall. But the shower drew most of my attention, spanning almost the whole length of the room, black metal lining the glass panels of the shower. And, centered right in the middle of the ceiling, was a rainfall shower head that tickled the edges of my memory.

After I finished scouring the second floor for some kind of realty assistance, I made my way back down the steps, figuring I might as well give myself the full tour as I waited for someone to arrive. I sent a quick text off to Peter’s assistant, since she usually handled these types of bookings, asking when the realtor was supposed to arrive.

While I waited for a response, I headed clockwise, walking through a sitting room complete with empty built-in shelves that I imagined filling with books and plants and decorative ceramics. The sitting room opened straight into the living room, a comfortable-looking couch pressed against the back wall, facing the large television mounted just above a sleek media console. Just beyond the living room was a sunroom, with large windows letting in enough natural light to illuminate the whole bottom floor. It was the perfect space for plants, which I would hang from the ceiling and on plant stands lining the walls.

The french doors in the sunroom led straight out to a patio, complete with a built-in fire pit and room for lounge chairs to be added later on. Beyond the patio was an equally large backyard, a few raised garden beds grouped in a cluster on a far corner, looking newly built with bags of potting soil stacked in a heap to their left. An oversized shed sat in the opposite corner, its styling matching that of the main house. A few trees were dotted throughout the yard, thickening until it turned back to forest at what I assumed was the edge of the property.

I reluctantly left the windows, backtracking slightly before turning toward the kitchen, the open-concept plan of the house allowing me to see straight into the living room from the kitchen. Charcoal-colored stainless steel appliances and black granite countertops matched the black furnishings on the cabinets and the faucet on the sink, everything shiny and new and updated.

My gaze finally made its way from the edges of the kitchen to the large island, which was likely close to eight feet long, a top of the line gas range built into the middle of it. My eyes snagged on a familiar shape laid on the counter, me feet freezing before I could move any further into the kitchen. The same envelope that usually inspired excitement made my heart race and fingers tremble for an entirely different reason once I put together the pieces that had been staring me in the face for weeks now.

The flowers that were all too similar to those I’d pinned on Pinterest boards and liked on Instagram. The headphones, which I had been wanting and researching but only for a few days, with no way for anyone but myself to know that I needed them. The sketchpad delivered alongside my favorite snacks and the concert tickets - not coincidences, things that we both happened to like, but things that had been curated specifically for me. The opinions I gave him on his dining room table and cabinet colors. Our conversation the other day, about the rainfall shower and garden beds, both of which looked newly-installed.

This house, not a dream manifested into reality by the fickle realty gods teamed up with Peter but rather a house that Alex had clearly created for me, based on things he’d learned about me. By what? Hacking into my computer, following me on social media, befriending me for information from the source? Not an admirer, not a friend. A stalker. The word that had been circling my mind for weeks, the one Bex originally attributed to him when I received that first bouquet.

As soon as my legs stopped feeling like I was on the verge of collapsing, I ran out of the house, leaving the front door ajar in my haste to make it to my car. I locked the doors, slamming my car into drive as I hurried down the driveway, stomach tense, scared that Alex’s car would pull in before I could make it to the main road. I only relaxed once I was back on the highway, headed toward home, tears streaming down my face as I lost my sense of safety and my best friend, all in one fell swoop.

Chapter15

Her

I spentthe weekend in my apartment, alone, trying to parse out how my meticulous life planning had led me to this point. I had a sister who abandoned me because she disagreed so strongly with my life choices. I had a boyfriend who thought so little of my opinion and knew so little of my preferences that he bought a house I hated without even consulting me. I had a secret stalker who bought me my dream house - or at the very least, decorated his house to suit my tastes - while I had looked him in the eye every day and trusted him more than almost everyone else in my life. I ignored every text Alex sent my way - having unblocked him after we initially made up - and left them unread, not bothering to explain my absence since I was sure he knew exactly what had sent me running.

Luckily, Peter was on yet another series of work trips, the firm putting out fires after primary elections had gone a little more blue than their “conservatively liberal” political firm fell, which meant I didn’t have to explain my poor mood or how much I hated the house he had committed us to. How seeing the townhouse had me questioning our entire relationship. Though to be honest, the cookie-cutter townhome looked a lot nicer now that I knew it wasn’t crafted by my stalker.

Either way, the situation didn’t make me miss Peter. It made me miss Bex, who I knew would have tracked Alex down using her own computer skills and kicked him firmly in the balls for springing a house on me. For lying to me. I even thought about texting her, but I didn’t know how best to explain through a few short words:Hey, I never told you about it but I became really good friends with this guy. Best friends, really. Turns out he was my admirer, which was crazy, but I forgave him since you left me so alone. Only then he sent me to a house heboughtfor me, and he actually was a stalker and to be honest you’d probably still like him more than Peter, stalking and all.

So I didn’t text her. Instead, I resolved to put all things Alex out of my head. I wanted to pretend he had never shown up in my life, throwing everything off-course in just a few short weeks. I would go to work, figure out what to do with Peter, and hope Bex forgave me soon enough that this past month or so could just be forgotten.

But when I pulled on my overalls before heading to work, not bothering with a clean pair since I was spending most of the day glazing, something tumbled out of the breast pocket, clinking against the ground as it landed. I stooped to pick it up, fingers freezing when they met the smooth metal of the key to Alex’s house. Or was it my house? Either way, the state of semi-shock I had been in since I ran from the house dissipated in one fell swoop. Anger colored my sight red as I fisted the key in my palm, the grooves of the teeth digging into my skin in a bite that I enjoyed.

I shoved the key back into the pocket, heading to work and using my anger to fuel me through dozens of glazings while June taught in the back. Her soothing voice occasionally echoed through the thin walls of the small workroom I was in, forcing me to take a few deep breaths until I felt calm enough to get me through the early afternoon and the end of my shift.

I headed directly toIronwood, grabbing a seat at mine and Alex’s usual table. I didn’t even bother pretending to take my card out of my wallet; the baristas hadn’t taken my money for weeks now, and I went ahead and added a cookie to my order, eating it while I sat.

I kept track of the minutes as I waited, wondering where he’d be coming from. Was he already in town, for work, or was he driving from the house? Did he know I’d be coming here today and had been waiting nearby or did he have some sort of tracking system? I settled on guessing he was driving from the house when it took him twenty minutes to show up, his footsteps moving at a quick pace and his chest heaving from exertion when he finally pushed through the door.

He did a double take when he saw me sitting there, clearly waiting for him with two coffees set in front of me. When I looked at him, the simmering anger and betrayal started to bubble back up in my chest, and I had enough foresight to grab our drinks and brush past him to leave the shop, instead settling on our bench nearby. It was almost déjà vu, or simply the universe laughing in my face, as if it had given me a warning I hadn’t heeded before, and I was now cursed to confront my mistakes in the same setting.

“Ames,” he said my name like a prayer, full of devotion and yearning, and I wondered if I had never noticed it before or if he was desperate because he knew what was coming. I didn’t give him the opportunity to try and explain, worried that he would be just as successful as the first time. That his sorry eyes and words of admiration would be enough to make me forget how wrong this was. How people didn’t go out and buy houses as tokens of courtship, decorating them to suit the other’s taste.

“You…youstalkedme.” It was almost laughable, as the word came out of my mouth, that I had a flashback to that first day when I told Bex about the flowers. How she’d joked about my having a stalker until we’d downgraded to the term “admirer” instead. I hadn’t planned on blurting out my accusations, but seeing his face only served to remind me what I kept losing, the hurt coloring my words as I got straight to the point.

“It’s not like that,” he protested, eyes taking on a hard edge at the term. “At least, not at first. Not the way you’re thinking.”

I scoffed at the half-hearted defense, even if my heart swelled a bit with hope, and I had to push it down deep to avoid making the same mistake twice.

“Then explain,” I demanded, jaw tight as I waited for the magical explanation of why he was stalking me in the first place.

“I can’t,” he growled, running his hands through his hair in an agitated motion, mussing the dark strands until they fell over his forehead.

I stood up, ready to leave, but Alex’s hand shot out, wrapping around my wrist. “I can’t because I want you to choose me, not turn you against him.” I didn’t bother asking who he was talking about. Peter’s face came to mind the instant Alex snarled “him,” his true feelings toward my boyfriend clear. I wasn’t sure what role Peter was playing in Alex’s game, but I didn’t bother asking when it was clear Alex wouldn’t share.

“I was going to leave him for you,” I admitted, feeling the tears as they gathered on my lashes, not holding back the bitter laugh that crawled up my throat. I remembered sitting in my car after the house tour, realizing how little Peter must care for me if he’d bought me a house without waiting for me to actually view it. How, when Alex asked me what I was looking for and looked interested in my opinion, it must have been because he was a better man, one that I should be devoting my mind to, especially when my heart was already on his side. But, like with everything else, it just served to blow up in my face. Alex had been following me and invading my privacy since he met me, maybe even before. “Shows what great instincts I have, right?”

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