Page 99 of After Midnight

And suddenly, I find my heart racing, my breath coming a bit faster now.

The man turns the corner before I can get a good look at his face. But I’m already seeing blue eyes narrowed under neon lights, a frown that looks somehow bored and sharp at the same time.

Is he following me?

I draw myself up, standing taller, trying to steady my breathing. My gaze remains glued to the end of the aisle, where other shoppers drift by with carts and baskets and children, but the blond man doesn’t reappear.

It’s fine, I tell myself. Just finish your shopping.

Still, when I look down at my phone, the list I have pulled up swims before my eyes. The words don’t look like anything more than squiggles of black against a white background.

I can’t focus. And I’m still breathing too hard, my chest tight.

My gaze flicks up again, then over my shoulder. At any second, I expect him to step into my line of sight, giving me that bored frown, whispering, “Welcome home, Mirage.”

Next thing I know, I’m abandoning my cart, leaving it right there in the middle of the aisle, and I’m walking through the store as quickly as I can without drawing attention, almost bumping into other shoppers as I go. I cross the parking lot and am in my Jeep, doors locked, before I’ve even had a chance to question my own actions.

In the quiet warmth of the locked car, I think, What am I doing?

He hasn’t done anything—not really. The flowers crossed a line, but that doesn’t mean he’s lurking around every corner. And he hasn’t appeared at the club or at my house. Yet my heart is still beating too fast, and my hands tremble in my lap.

I take a deep breath.

Now that I don’t feel quite as vulnerable, I look toward the grocery store’s entrance, and I only have to watch for a few minutes before the man walks out. He pauses in front of the store to put his sunglasses on.

And . . . it’s not even him. It’s just some random blond man in a nice jacket and polished shoes.

I feel like I overreacted, like I’m being ridiculous. Embarrassment floods my veins, mixing with the adrenaline still lingering there.

It’s not him, I tell myself.

The racing in my heart settles, just a bit, but when I think of going back into the store to resume my shopping, I find it hard to get out of the car. So I’m still sitting there, trying to decide if I should just pick up takeout on the way home and try my shopping again tomorrow, when my phone rings with a video call. The sudden sound in the quiet car makes me jump. Then I look down.

Seb.

On my screen is the photo of him with a burrito, smiling in Cali’s sunset light. And he looks so happy, so carefree.

For a split second, I consider not answering. I don’t want to concern him with my make-believe problems. I don’t want him to see how scared I just got in a crowded grocery store, of all places. But when I go to hit the Reject button, my thumb hovering over the screen, I find I can’t do it. Because I really want to talk to him. It feels like it’s been a lifetime since I last saw him or heard his voice. I miss him so much it hurts.

So I swallow hard, take a few breaths, and answer the phone, putting a smile on my face.

“Hey, Seb.”

chapter 46

Sebastian

“HEY, SEB.”

Immediately, something sounds off. Like she’s trying to be cheerful but is a really bad actress. Her smile doesn’t look right, and there’s a tightness around her eyes that usually isn’t there.

I’m lounging on the couch, a soccer game playing on the TV, but immediately push myself into a seated position when I see her. The pillow I was lying on falls off the couch onto the floor.

“What’s wrong?” I ask.

Something flickers in her eyes. She draws a breath. And I’m certain she’s about to tell me that it’s nothing, or that she’s fine. But then . . . she crumbles.

Her blue eyes mist over with tears, and she looks away from the camera, casting her gaze somewhere that I can’t see. From the looks of it, she’s in her Jeep, so she’s probably out running errands, like she usually does on Mondays.