Page 65 of Total Exposure

I’ll be watching you watch him.

And if you do everything the way I told you, I’ll leave the blindfold under your pillow again.

X

I let out the breath I was holding and reach for the map. There’s an X on it, indicating the house I’m in now. Apparently, this is some historic district and all the houses around me are equally as impressive as this one. X has actually drawn a dotted line, telling me exactly where to go.

I’m hot, too bundled up to be inside for long, so I go for the front door before I can think too hard about what I’m going to do.

Once outside, the cold feels good. It’s overcast and there’s a sharp wind that burns the exposed parts of my cheeks just below my sunglasses. But when I walk out the front gate and look at the map, then look left, I realize I am living next door to the Denver Botanic Gardens.

It’s mere steps away. An old, weathered, dark concrete path leads into a canopy of bare trees that sway with the wind and bring me out into—I look down at my pamphlet—the Ellipse, an ornamental garden that is mostly covered in a thin layer of snow. But a bright tower of yellow glass and many smaller orange glass orbs decorate the centerpiece.

Which kinda blows me away, because I live next door and I never even knew this place was here. Granted, it’s only been two days, but most people—normal people—would take notice of where they are in the fucking city.

And I missed it.

But I miss almost everything, don’t I?

I continue along the pre-marked route, which is a straight pathway that leads to the greenhouses, but stop about halfway to gape at the pyramid building off to my left.

Once again I’m stuck by my ignorance. That such a beautiful building is so close—If I ever bothered to look out the window, I could probably see it from the upstairs master bedroom, and I never knew.

It makes me wonder how many other things I’ve missed out on because I was too afraid to step out my front door? Or look out a goddamned window?

The wind picks up and reminds me that I’m outside in the dead of winter, so I continue along the path at a brisk pace, heading towards the greenhouse.

I stop at the cafe as instructed and force myself to stand in line for a coffee. I’m sweating and not because it’s too warm in here. There’s too many people coming and going for the cafe to be anything other than tepid in temperature.

The people are the problem. It’s not enough to realize what I’m missing by letting my fear dictate my life. My body responds the way it always does. With racing heart, shortness of breath, and the panic inside me building and building—

“Can I help you?” a young woman asks me when the person in front of me in line vacates her counter spot.

I don’t even know what to order. I haven’t been inside a cafe in… well, ever. Not as an adult. Not ordering coffee. I drink it at home, but I make it in one of those automatic machines by the cup.

“Ma’am?” the woman asks, lifting her eyebrows at my silence.

“Um…err…” I hate myself for stammering like an idiot. “Just a coffee,” I say.

“Size?” she asks.

“Small,” I offer.

“We don’t have small,” she says. “We have medium, large, and extra-large.”

“Well, that’s dumb,” I say without thinking.

“So stupid, right?” she says, half laughing in a dry, ironic tone. “I mean, just call it a small.” She rolls her eyes and I find myself smiling. “So small medium it is. What’s your name?”

“My name?” I ask.

She picks up a cup and a black marker and says. “So I can put your name on your cup. I’m only allowed to take orders. Those geniuses back there fill up the cups.” And then she snickers at her joke as she side-eyes her co-workers.

“Angela,” I say, giving the name I use for Dan at Mott’s.

“OK, Angela. Pick it up over there in like two seconds.” She nods her head to the end of the counter and says, “Can I help you?” to the next customer.

I move aside quickly, baffled at the entire interaction.