~ Becca ~
Stephen started watching me immediately I stepped through the door.
Not aggressively.
Not openly.
But with quiet irritation.
I noticed it the third time we were in the same room.
A gallery opening this time. Modern art, abstract enough that people could pretend it meant whatever they wanted. Soft lighting. Too much champagne. Conversations layered over each other like static.
I arrived with purpose and left space around myself. I spoke when spoken to. I laughed at the right moments. I didn’t seek him out.
I didn’t have to.
He was already there.
Stephen Hale stood near the back wall, drink in hand, posture loose but eyes sharp. He was pretending to listen to a man twice his age talk about venture capital, but his attention kept slipping.
To me.
I felt it land on my spi
