Page 15 of Ballrooms & Blackmail

I’m just the help.

I pull into my apartment complex, park in my spot.

But I can’t force myself to go inside. Instead, I walk along the path that winds its way through the buildings, slowly making my way to one of my favorite spots in the area.

It’s just a bench, but it’s placed close to a wall and shaded by a gazebo that’s strung with fairy lights that cut through any nighttime shadows. And there’s an oak tree that’s positioned just right—if I curl up my legs, I can be completely hidden by its trunk, free to observe the world around me, but remain unseen.

How do I know this?

Because coming upon my curled-up presence has startled many an occupant strolling along the path.

Maybe I’m being creepy, hiding in plain sight, but I don’t really care.

It’s nice to be outside in the fresh air, to hear the chatter of conversations as people go to their apartments, the noise of kids playing in the nearby field, to feel the sunshine—or like right now, the crisp evening breeze on my cheeks—and to do it all while feeling safe.

Tonight’s no different.

Except, I do that listening and soaking up the world while wondering if Thorn will like the cookie I made him.

“Dumb,” I whisper. “So freaking dumb.”

“I’m sorry?”

I jump, nearly fall off the bench as I realize that for all my remaining unseen, I haven’t been paying attention to my surroundings.

A woman is staring at me, her brows lifted.

“Uh,” I stammer. “I— Sorry.” I force a smile. “I was talking to myself.”

“Gotcha,” she murmurs, her lips curving upward. “I’ve been there.” A beat. “Far too often.”

I chuckle and she does too.

Then nods at the bench. “Okay if I join you?”

“I…uh…” It’s fine…but it’s not exactly conducive to my whole part-of-the-world-without-being-part-of-the-world thing I’ve got going on.

“It’s okay,” she says immediately. “You want quiet. I don’t want to intrude.”

“No, um, I wouldn’t mind the company. I swear.”

Except it sounds very much like I would mind the company.

She studies me for a long moment then slowly sits down on the opposite side of the bench. “I’m Stephanie,” she says, extending her hand.

“River,” I tell her, grasping it.

“Nice to meet you.”

I brace for uncomfortable conversation, for awkward small talk.

To my surprise, it doesn’t happen.

Instead, Stephanie curls her legs up and rests her chin on her knees, her gaze pointed toward the setting sun, her soft sigh of contentment one I feel deep inside.

Still, it takes me a few minutes to relax.

And few minutes more for Stephanie to turn her gaze toward me. “Thanks for letting me intrude,” she says, her mouth curved into a smile.