Page 107 of Ink Me Three Times
She looks up at me with wide, innocent eyes, still grinning.
“Can I have lemonade too?” She’s already got a bead of cheese on her cheek, and her face is practically glowing with excitement.
"With extra strawberries," I tease, winking.
“Yes!” she yells, pumping a fist into the air. It’s a victory, her tiny triumph, and I can’t help but admire the way she lives so fully in the moment.
But for me, it’s not quite as simple.
As Penny digs into her sandwich, I find myself staring off into the distance, my stomach turning in slow, painful circles. Freddie’s reaction keeps replaying in my mind.
He’d been fine. Laughing, joking. Until he saw…
Something.
I can’t shake the look on his face, though. That frozen moment when everything about him seemed to collapse in on itself. It wasn’t just panic, it was fear. Like something deep inside him had been ripped open and he couldn’t close it back up fast enough.
I try to convince myself it’s just stress, that he’s just overworked, maybe distracted from the chaos of the convention. But every part of me knows it’s something more.
I wish I knew exactly what it was. Because until I do, I can’t help but feel like I’m standing on the edge of something, waiting for it to tip over and drag me with it.
“Penny,” I murmur, distracted as she happily chews on the sandwich, oblivious to the mess of thoughts running through my head. “You good?”
“Yeah!” she answers through a mouthful of bread and cheese, giggling as some of it drips down her chin.
It’s impossible not to laugh at her. She’s too cute for her own good.
But my laughter feels hollow. It’s the kind of sound you make to convince everyone, yourself included, that everything’s fine when it’s not.
I’m mid-bite of my sandwich when I feel it: the unmistakable prickle on the back of my neck.
Someone’s watching us.
I force myself to keep chewing, to keep looking normal, but my pulse quickens, and my eyes dart over the crowd as casually as I can manage. Families, tourists, vendors hustling between food trucks, a couple of inked-up artists laughing. It’s the kind of scene you see at any busy convention, chaotic yet familiar.
And then, there she is.
A woman. Blonde. Slim. Wearing a white blouse, her hair tucked behind her ears, and oversized sunglasses. She’s standing off to the side near the edge of the crowd, not doing anything. Not talking to anyone.
Just watching.
Us.
I can feel the weight of her gaze, even from this distance, like she’s studying us, specifically me. My skin crawls under the intensity of it.
I shift in my seat, instinctively putting an arm around Penny’s chair, as if somehow shielding her will shield me too. Penny doesn’t seem to notice. She’s too busy with her lemonade and grilled cheese.
The woman looks away quickly, like she wasn’t staring at all. But I saw it. I felt it.
I turn my attention back to Penny, trying not to act too obvious. I tell myself to relax, but something about that woman lingers, unsettled and cold.
I glance up again, a few seconds later, just to see if she’s still there.
But she’s gone.
The spot where she stood is empty, and a part of me relaxes, like the air in the courtyard got a little lighter.
But I don’t forget that look.
