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That doesn’t mean I want to dive headfirst into any of the men. It’s not just about that. It’s also about making a choice, and I’m unsure if I can.
Why worry about it now, Charlotte?
True, I should let things unfold naturally, let the simmering attraction run its course, and it burns hot. Just thinking about any of them sends shivers through my body.
A chipmunk scurries across the path, and I pause, crouching down slowly so as not to startle it. The chipmunk also pauses, lifting on its hind legs and staring at me with wide eyes. The simplicity of its life sends a small surge of jealousy through me. Oh, to live every day just searching for food.
As I watch the chipmunk drop back onto the path, I become acutely aware of how quiet everything is, but the forest isn’t supposed to be this quiet.
When the forest falls silent, it means only one thing—a predator is nearby. I swallow my fear, scanning my surroundings, and I observe the chipmunk moving cautiously into the brush and up a tree.
New York is home to a diverse array of wildlife, but the apex predators are relatively scarce, with the most notable being bobcats and bears. Fortunately, I’ve never come face-to-face with either of them. I’d take snakes and spiders over those two any day.
I remain crouched, my senses on high alert, as I spin in a slow circle, listening intently. In the distance, locusts create a buzzing symphony. I close my eyes and focus solely on the auditory tapestry surrounding me, like a wave of sound rolling over and then receding into the forest. A bird chirps in the distance, and closer by, I hear the chipmunk scurrying up the tree.
Yes, it’s quiet, but it’s not the hushed silence of a predator lurking nearby, not in the form of a big cat or a bear at least.
I turn again, straining to catch any sound. The path I just came from is quiet, but the forest ahead differs. A gentle breeze brushes over my sweaty skin, and I take in the clear sky and the sun peeking through the thinning canopy.
Everything appears normal. I rise to my feet and survey my surroundings.
I should head back.
An inexplicable feeling tugs at me, the itch of awareness. The sensation of being watched. It’s a feeling that has become all too familiar over the past week.
Usually, it’s just the squad car parked outside, or Lyric lurking in the shadows. However, he wasn’t around this morning, and I checked.
Matty didn’t reply to my text.
And Desmond? Well, I didn’t see him either.
So who is watching me?
Don’t panic, don’t panic.
The presence, whoever it is, seems to approach from the direction of the path leading home. If I step off the path, I’ll risk getting lost, but I have a fully charged phone with a GPS for the trail, so I should be fine.
Shivers ripple through me as I weigh the unsettling options. I step aside, darting behind a tree, and pull out my phone. My heart thunders in my chest as if I’m in the middle of a sprint, and my fingers tremble as I open the GPS app, only to discover there’s no service.
Don’t panic. I repeat the mantra while sliding the phone back into my pocket. I try to convince myself that I’m simply overthinking things, that there’s no one following me and it’s just anxiety.
I let my head fall back against the tree’s rough bark, close my eyes, and focus on steadying my breath. The forest comes alive with its symphony of sounds. Perhaps I let my anxiety get the best of me, drowning out the natural world with my own irrational fears. That has to be it.
Snap.
My eyes fly open, and a surge of adrenaline courses through me, intensifying the itch in my body compelling me to run, to flee. Shaking off the fear, I regain control of my breathing and turn to peer around the tree. The sound came from my right, so I cautiously creep around the tree to the other side.
I don’t move, I don’t even dare to breathe, as I scan the forest ahead. Nothing stirs except the shifting shadows cast by the leaves. There’s no one there.
Feeling utterly ridiculous, I step back onto the trail and head toward home, where I can have a mimosa and a long, soothing bath.
The path looms ominously ahead as I start my journey home. Two miles typically take about half an hour on foot. However, I could cut that time in half if I decide to jog and gradually work my way into a run. As the hair on my neck stands on end, I opt for jogging, trying to appear nonchalant, as if this is precisely what I planned to do.
As I pick up my pace, though, another twig snaps, and I instinctively jump off the path, darting into the woods. I’m not entirely sure why I’ve chosen to sprint into the woods, but I’m relieved I did as I hear approaching footsteps.
I’ve traversed this path countless times, and never once have I felt threatened until now. At least this time I didn’t freeze.
I should have frozen. It seems that I can’t do what I’m supposed to at the moment. Instead, I rush beneath trees and alongside bushes. Some slap me in the face, and thorns pierce my skin.
