Page 143 of Letters From A Stalker

The pen stops moving.

Kai looks at me over the top edge of his notepad. “Occupational hazard.”

“I’m serious.”

“So am I.”

“I know, but…” I pause, already aware that I’m wandering into territory that might be inappropriate without understanding why it matters to me. “Do you ever talk about yourself?”

The question catches him completely off guard and the feeling is almost satisfying.

He leans back slightly, studying me. “In therapy?”

“That reaction tells me no.”

A small crease appears between his eyebrows. “There usually isn’t much reason to.”

“I know the point isn’t for us to trade childhood stories and become best friends.” I tuck one leg more comfortably beneath myself. “I just realized I have no idea what you actually do when you’re not sitting in that chair listening to other people’s problems.”

For a second, he says nothing. I almost retract it.

“Ignore me. That was probably weird.”

“No.” His answer comes before I can finish retreating, though his voice softens when he adds, “It’s not weird. I’m deciding how to answer without turning your session into mine.”

“That sounds very therapist of you.”

“It’s an unfortunate side effect of the degree.”

I smile. Kai glances briefly toward the window as though collecting something ordinary enough to share.

“My life isn’t particularly exciting.”

“I’ll be the judge of that.” That earns me a look.

“Gym most mornings,” he says eventually. “Work. I ride when the weather allows it, usually at night if I’ve had a long day and need my head quiet for a while.”

My attention catches on that. “Night rides?”

“Yeah.”

Something warm sparks unexpectedly beneath my ribs. Not recognition. Just interest.

“What does that mean? You just ride around?”

“Sometimes.” His shoulders loosen a little as he answers, and there is something different about hearing him talk about something that isn’t connected to my trauma. “Sometimes I take the highway out far enough that traffic thins out, ride until I’m tired of being cold, then come back.”

“That sounds incredibly safe.”

His mouth tilts. “It is when you know what you’re doing.”

“Famous last words.”

“I’ve had worse.”

There is enough history behind that sentence that I almost ask what he means, but something in his expression tells me that would be moving farther than he intended to go so I let it pass.

“What else?”