Lawrence nodded tightly, cast another look at Nick, and then turned to leave. I felt my body sag with relief as he walked away.
“Nice bow tie,” Nick said, snickering. “Listen, Aud, as much fun as we’re having with whatever this is, I have to get to work. Why don’t you just tell me what’s going on?”
“Just one more time, Nicky. Please.”
He rolled his eyes good-naturedly and held the phone close to his ear as the audio played once more.
“Okay,” he said, frowning. “Yeah, okay. I heard it that time. You say, ‘Hi, you’re dreaming, oh.’ ”
“You think I said all that? You think I’m the one who said ‘you’re dreaming’?”
“Who else would it have been?”
“That’s kind of the question. I’ve got this recording, which sure makes it sound like someone was in my apartment, but nothing’s missing. And it sort of sounds like they just stood there, so—”
“Hold up,” Nick interrupted. “Is this why you were asking me if I went home? You think that’s me? You think I’m some sort of weirdo who gets off on watching you sleep?”
“That’s not—”
“I’ve got news for you, babe. I have better things to do than watch you toss and turn.”
I arched an eyebrow at him.
He snorted and shook his head. “The ego on you.”
“That’s why you love me, though, right?” I said, hoping to lighten the mood.
A slight smirk appeared on his face. “That and that ass of yours.”
“Well, my ass and I were totally freaked out. Honestly, I didn’t know what to think. It hadn’t even occurred to me that it might just be me.”
“It’s totally you,” he said with a shrug. “But maybe I should come over tonight and see if it happens again.”
One of Nick’s golden eyebrows was crooked seductively, and I was suddenly very aware of the way his striped dress shirt strained slightly across his broad shoulders, the way his gray slacks hugged his firm thighs. Warmth pooled in my stomach, and I bit my lip.
And then I thought about Max—sweet, floppy-haired Max, who sent me the recipe to his lemongrass curry as though I might actually make it myself. Since our picnic, we’d started texting throughout the day and chatting every evening before bed. It was something I had started to look forward to—curling up at night and telling him about my day, listening to him describe his. He was sweet and thoughtful, and I was starting to think that I might really be falling for him. I couldn’t ruin what we might be building by letting Nick into my bed again.
“Not tonight,” I said.
Nick squinted at me. “First you wouldn’t let me stay. Then you don’t respond to my messages. And now this. Are you mad at me or something?”
“No, not at all.”
I considered leaving it at that, but thought better of it. I didn’t owe Max anything—we’d only gone out twice and had certainly never had any conversations about being exclusive—but it seemed like there was definite possibility there. Maybe we could really be something, as long as I didn’t leave a door open for Nick.
“Actually, Nick, I’ve”—I paused to take a deep breath—“started seeing someone.”
Nick smiled, as though it might be a joke. “What?”
I nodded. “Yeah.”
“Huh,” he said, leaning back in his chair, brow furrowed. “So is this the guy you had that picnic at Gravelly Point with?”
“How do you know about that?”
“Audrey, you post your life all over the internet. I’d be surprised if there was anyone on the Eastern Seaboard who didn’t know about it.” He sighed and drummed his fingers on his knee. “Well, shit. I’d say you don’t know what you’re missing, but you do.”
“The ego on you,” I shot back teasingly.
“We’re a pair, huh?” He screwed up his mouth. “I have to admit, I’m a little surprised to see Audrey Miller interested in monogamy.”
“It’s just something I’m trying.” I offered him a smile. “You never know, maybe I’ll be calling you next week.”
He scoffed. “Maybe you’ll be calling me tonight.”
“Nick—”
He waved me away and stood. “See you around, Audrey.”
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
AUDREY
Cat frowned down at my phone, which sat on the table between us at Sweetgreen, buffeted by our salads. The Luna Listen app was open, its eerie recording playing at top volume.
“I don’t know,” Cat finally said. “I’m not sure what I’m hearing.”
I rewound slightly and lifted the phone toward her ear. “There. At the end. Do you hear someone say ‘You’re dreaming’?”
“Maybe,” she said uncertainly. She took the phone from my hands and listened to that portion again. “I don’t know, Audrey. Is that you?”
“Really?” I asked hopefully. “You think that’s my voice?”
“I don’t know. It’s really hard to tell if it’s even a voice at all.” She frowned. “Do you remember waking up last night?”
“This isn’t from last night,” I clarified. “This is from a couple of weeks ago. The day the Rosalind exhibit opened, actually. I was so wired that night that I took a sleeping pill, which is why I didn’t notice this recording right away. I hadn’t even realized I’d turned on the app.”
“Oh,” Cat said slowly. “That was the night you heard someone in the alley, right? And saw the box that had the headless flowers in it?”
I nodded grimly. “Exactly. Do you think it was all the same guy? Whoever was in the alley and left those flowers later came back and came inside? I just don’t get why he would leave the flowers outside if he could come inside.”
“Maybe he didn’t know he could get inside when he left the flowers,” Cat suggested. “Or maybe he didn’t want you to know he was inside. Or maybe it’s not the same person at all.”
“Or maybe you were right and the voice is me, and the flowers are just a weird coincidence.”
“I don’t know,” Cat said doubtfully. “When I said it might be you, I didn’t know what day we were talking about. It would have to be a pretty big coincidence for all this to happen on the same night and not be related.”
“Stranger things have happened. Besides, you’re not the only one who thought it was me. Nick thought so, too.”
“You played this for Nick?” Cat asked, raising her eyebrows.
“Yeah, this morning.”
“This morning?” she repeated sharply.
“Get your mind out of the gutter. Nick met me before work to listen to this. I …” I stalled, not wanting to admit to Cat that I had been on the verge of accusing Nick. “… I wanted his opinion.”
“Wait,” Cat said, pursing her lips. “The night of this recording. The night before you found those flowers. Wasn’t that also the night that you sent Nick away?”
I nodded reluctantly. “I know what you’re thinking, and I’ve already thought of that. But it wasn’t Nick. He flat-out denied it.”
“Audrey, this is the guy who lied to you about denting your car’s fender right after you watched him do it. He would hardly admit to breaking into your bedroom at night.”
“That was one time almost ten years ago, and totally different. Besides, Cat, you don’t know him like I do. I can tell when he’s lying, and I’m sure he was telling the truth.”
“All right,” Cat said uncertainly. “But maybe you should stay with me for a while.”
* * *
IT WAS SWEET OF CAT to invite me to stay with her, but there had been a hesitation in her voice that told me the offer wasn’t entirely sincere. I was sure it had to do with work—I knew something big was going on, and all conversations with her gradually morphed into discussions about how stressed she was, how many cases she had to read or pages she had to write, and whether I thought it meant something that Connor had brought her a cup of coffee while they’d been working. I didn’t want to add to her pressure—and I didn’t exa
ctly relish the idea of sitting alone in her apartment while she worked late. I needed to get out, to do something, anything that would take my mind off that recording.
Luckily, I knew just the person to call.
* * *
MAX WAS WAITING FOR ME at the bar at the Dabney, where he’d somehow managed to score last-minute reservations, looking slightly rumpled and wearing those god-awful Vans. Fashion ineptitude aside, my heart cartwheeled when he directed those warm brown eyes toward me and smiled, showing off his dimples. A comb, an iron, and decent footwear, I thought to myself. That’s all he needs.
“Audrey,” he said, kissing my cheek lightly. “I’m so glad you called.”
“I would have called sooner if I knew you had these reservations in your pocket,” I quipped. “I’ve been dying to try this place.”
“There was a cancellation,” he said with a shrug. “I just got lucky.”
If I had been with Nick, I would have said We’ll see about that, and he would have winked, and then he would have been putting his hands on my knees under the table. It would have been hot, but somehow there was something almost hotter about this: standing across from this man and feeling the attraction buzzing between us, wanting to touch him but not doing it; the uncertainty and anticipation of what might happen when we left the restaurant.
I rocked forward on my tiptoes to return the kiss, my lips lingering on his cheek as I inhaled the clean scent of his aftershave. “I think I’m the lucky one.”
* * *
OVER SHARED PLATES of fire-roasted peppers and charred romaine salad, Max and I talked nonstop about our respective jobs, the incredible food, the people on a clearly terrible first date next to us, something he’d read in the Post about track work on the Metro—everything other than the one thing that I couldn’t get off my mind.
You’re dreaming.
Was it possible that it was just me? I couldn’t say; I’d never heard myself whisper like that. Then again, I’d never heard myself talk so plainly in my sleep. Everything I otherwise caught had been shouts and yelps.
If it wasn’t me, though, who could it have been? I’d initially thought it was Ryan, but my unknown guest had stood silent for nearly an hour, and I’d never seen Ryan remain still for more than a half second. Maybe if he had been super-stoned? It was hard to believe him leaving without taking anything, though. Then I’d wondered about Lawrence. After all, he had been upset with me that day, and I still suspected he was the one who had left me the orange flowers. But why would he break into my apartment and then just stand there? It didn’t make sense.
Could it be Brandon from the museum? Or Eric the bartender? He’d seemed laser-focused on me the night of Lena’s birthday, and I wondered if he had been the one to follow Cat and me home from the bar. Or what if it was someone else entirely, someone I didn’t even know? I kept thinking back to an evening last year when Izzy had come charging into our apartment, cheeks flushed and angry.
“Some girl outside just shouted ‘Hey, Izzy’ at me,” she said, flinging her oversized Tory Burch bag down on the couch.
“So?” I asked, looking up from my laptop, where I was editing some photos.
“So I don’t like the idea of random people knowing who I am and where I live just because you overshare online.”
“How do you know this has anything to do with me?”
“Be serious, Audrey,” she’d said, casting a withering look at me. “I work in finance and keep all my social media accounts private. Random twenty-year-old girls carrying fake designer bags aren’t going to know who I am … unless they’ve seen me on your posts.”
“Again, I say ‘so’? What do you think that girl’s going to do, other than shout your name a few times?”
“Just because she’s not dangerous doesn’t mean that someone else isn’t. People know where we live, Audrey. It isn’t safe.”
I had rolled my eyes and told her she was overreacting, but what if she was right? What if I had been too careless with my personal information, and someone was using it against me? What if the creep who had peered through my window, left those headless flowers, and been caught on the recording was a stranger? Or, more terrifying, what if it was three strangers, all of whom had found me because of what I posted?
“Audrey?” Max asked, breaking into my thoughts. “You seem like you’re someplace else.”
I caught my bottom lip with my teeth, scraping away some of the gloss. I wanted to tell Max about what I’d heard, confess how frightened it made me. There was something about him that made me feel as though I could confide in him; I knew he wouldn’t blow me off like Nick had, so quick to tell me it was nothing, or get overly dramatic about things like Cat had. I knew he wouldn’t give me a lecture about privacy or calling the police, as I was certain my sister would.
But that was just a feeling. I trusted my intuition about people, but I didn’t really know Max. What if it was too much for him? I mean, I wouldn’t blame him for walking away. What kind of person would want to date someone who was in the midst of being stalked? Or who shared so much online that random strangers might be creeping into her bedroom at night?
I opened my mouth, prepared to say something safe about being distracted by the wood-burning oven on display, but the lie stuck in my throat and suddenly I heard myself saying, “Have you ever used a sleep tracker?”
“A what?”
“A sleep tracker. It’s this app you can use to monitor your sleeping habits.” I paused, debating whether I should tell him the full truth or only say that I heard myself talking in my sleep, turn it into a funny anecdote. I met Max’s soft eyes and took a deep breath. “I’ve been using one, and I think I may have captured someone breaking into my apartment.”
“What?”
“Yeah. Needless to say, I’m a little freaked out.”
“What happened? Tell me you weren’t home at the time.”
“I was, actually,” I said with a grimace. “I slept through the whole thing, which is why I can only say that I think someone was breaking in.”
“Nothing was taken?”
You’re dreaming.
I shuddered and shook my head. “No, that’s the really weird part. It sounds like whoever it was just … stood there, watching me sleep.”
Max’s eyes widened so much I could see the whites all around his irises. “That’s straight out of a nightmare. Are you okay?”
“I mean …” I trailed off, unwilling to say No, I’m not okay even though it was the truth. “Here’s the thing: I don’t use the app every night. So this apparently happened a couple of weeks ago, but I just listened to the recording today. And now I can’t stop wondering if this has happened other times. What if someone has been in my apartment more than that—what if they’re in there regularly—and it’s only by chance that I heard it this once?”
“God,” he muttered, rubbing his mouth with his hand. “You’re not still staying there, right?”
“Cat said I could sleep at her place, but I don’t know. She’s been so busy with work lately, even more than usual. I mean, you know how she is.”
“She can be intense, I know, but, Audrey, you can’t stay in that apartment. Not until the police have caught this creep.”
I turned my attention to my Negroni, rattling the ice in the glass. “I haven’t called the police.”
“What? Why not?”
“You’d have to hear the recording to understand, but … two people I trust thought it might just be me. So, I mean, if both of these people think it’s me, what are the police going to think?”
“But you don’t think it’s you,” he said slowly. “I can tell by the look on your face.”
I forced a shrug. “It’s hard to tell.”
“Listen,” he said, taking my hand across the table. “If you think someone was in your apartment, I believe you. And I know I’m just a guy you barely know, but if you don’t want to stay with Cat, you’re more than welcome to stay with me.”
Butte
rflies fluttered in my stomach when Max’s hand closed over mine, and I involuntarily licked my lips. I met his eyes, looking at me seriously from underneath bovine lashes, and lost interest in discussing what had happened in my bedroom all those weeks ago. I was suddenly much more interested in what might be happening in Max’s bedroom that night.
I cracked a grin and teased, “Max Metcalf, are you trying to get me into bed?”
His cheeks flushed scarlet. “That’s not what I meant. I mean, you can have my bed. I’ll sleep on the couch. I just—”
“Shut up,” I said gently. “Why don’t we get the check?”
* * *
“THIS IS INCREDIBLE,” I said, heading directly for Max’s wall of floor-to-ceiling windows. My nose bumped the glass as I admired the vantage point from his seventh-floor unit. I stepped backward as a slight wave of vertigo swept over me, and turned to Max. “That mansion you took me to had an incredible view, but this one is an extremely close second. I mean, you can see the Washington Monument!”
“A sliver of it,” he amended. “But it is a nice view.”
“That’s the understatement of the year. I would kill for these windows.” I paused to flash him a devilish grin. “I might kill you for them.”
“Is that my cue to hide the knives?”
“Depends on whether you’re feeling lucky.”
“I’ll take my chances,” he said. “Can I get you anything? Wine? Water? Another Negroni?”
“Oh, man, a Negroni sounds amazing, thanks.”
“I can’t promise it’ll be as good as the one at dinner,” he said, pulling a bottle of Campari down from his open kitchen shelving. “In fact, I can guarantee it won’t be.”
“As long as it has alcohol.”
“I can handle that,” he said with a grin. “Hey, do you want to put on some music? I’ve got Apple Music hooked up through the TV, or, if you’re feeling old-school, you can put on a record.”
He pointed to the wall behind me, and I turned, squealing in delight as I discovered a bookcase stuffed with records. “Look at your vinyl!”
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