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Willow beams through the camera, and I look away.

“How long will you be gone?” she asks.

“No clue. I’ve got a place to stay, though, and a job. We’ll see what happens from there. I may end up on a true crime podcast.”

“If you’re murdered, I’m telling your parents they drove you into the arms of a sexy lumberjack serial killer, and it’s all their fault.” A waiter sets a plate of pancakes down. Her eyes follow him as he leaves, ogling unapologetically.

“Please do.” I laugh.

She promises to make sure Jenny doesn’t sublet my room while I’m gone, and I promise to call at least once a week so she knows I haven’t been buried in a shallow grave.

And I’m alone again.

It takes ten minutes to unpack my suitcase. All my possessions fit into three drawers. My toiletries and makeup go on the little shelf in the bathroom, my jewelry on top of the dresser. The mirror catches the mountain outside, sprinkled in snow.

I shower and get into my pajamas at two in the afternoon, hoping the routine tricks my brain into shutting down. If Marthe’s son decides I’m not cut out for the job, I can’t pay the extra rent I insisted on paying.

My eyes close.

What does prickly even mean?

Chapter 8

Nick

The girl Mom hired stands shivering on the curb in tights and a skirt under a wool peacoat, completely inappropriate for trekking through freezing woods at midnight. As predicted, she won’t last.

The headlights land on her face as I park, and all the blood drains from my body.

It’s her.

How is she even here?

The vinyl creaks under my grip.

Dark auburn waves spill out from under a woolen beanie. Nose red from the chill. She rocks back on her heels, and her bangs lift and settle. Two insulated flasks tucked against her in gloved hands. Her arm is hooked through the picnic basket Mom packs for my guests.

Her pulse is racing, quick and shallow, a drumbeat I can hear all the way from the van. Everything about her is soft and warm and holding its ground, and I’ve been staring for fifteen seconds.

Fuck.

Think, Nick.

She squints, trying to see through the tinted windows, and my mind is churning through every option to avoid getting out. Avoid facing her after what I did. She sat in the gutter in the rain and I watched.

She can’t be in this van with me, alone, night after night. I saw a part of her that wasn’t meant for anyone to see.

And she looked right back into me.

I slump against the seat.

I want her to look at me like that again.

Nope. This isn’t going to work.

I get out and step up onto the sidewalk anyway. Her pulse skips in a way that isn’t fear or surprise. I know what those sound like.

Her mouth opens. Closes. All her thoughts cross her face. The only one I catch is livid. She squares up, spine locking into place.