Dash regretted agreeing to this meeting. But at the time, he hadn’t seen a way around it. Cindy was only willing to talk if they met face-to-face, and Dash hoped that in doing so he could convince her to stay quiet and leave him and his family alone.
The Sunset Tower had seemed like the best meeting spot option, because celebs loved to frequent the hotel’s restaurant and bar, which meant there was a heavy security presence, so there was backup in case he needed to call over a bodyguard or two. And based on the fact that Cindy’s foot had snaked its way to his ankle, Dash planned to call one over very soon.
Dash moved his foot away from her and wiped at his forehead with the back of his hand. Their table was outside by the pool; being in the open felt safer than a cozy indoor booth, but the summer sun beating down on him only added to the stress sweating.
“I know that you told a journalist about my...recovery,” he said in a hushed tone. He waited for Cindy’s reaction, but she frowned and sat back in her chair, as if confused.
“What? No, I didn’t.” She reached her hand across the table toward his, and he had to lean fully back in his chair to avoid the contact. She slid her sunglasses off and a sincere expression crossed her face. “I would never do anything to hurt you.”
“You’re the only person who knows this very specific fact about me.” His jaw clenched. How could he have been so naive as to tell her? Sure, he needed people to talk to, but that’s what Chris was for. “If you didn’t tell, then who did?”
“I don’t know.” She raised her hands up, as if in surrender. “But you have to believe me when I say that there’s no one I’ve told.”
Of course he didn’t believe her. He’d hidden his identity from her, sure, but she’d hidden the fact that she knew who he’d been the whole time. Maybe the only reason she was friendly with him in the first place was to take advantage of his celebrity status. Dash hated feeling used. He had no idea what else she might know, or who she planned to tell. What he did know, however, was that he needed the situation contained. He didn’t want to loop in the authorities, because he had secrets to keep that they would surely spill. And if his mom found out that not only had Dash told a random online person about his problems but that he had an anonymous social-media account for crafting, she might actually explode. He had to handle this on his own.
“You knew who I was this whole time, somehow, but you never told me,” he said. “Why would I trust you?”
“The tattoo on your arm,” she quickly said.
He rubbed at the wave that started at his wrist and worked its way up his forearm.
“I saw it in one of your videos, and I’d only ever seen that on one person. You.” Her eyes turned soft as she spoke. “And I thought, what are the odds? The person I’ve had a crush on since I was a little girl is secretly a crafter, just like me? And then I realized it was fate intervening, showing me the way to you.”
More like bad luck, Dash thought, but he didn’t dare say that out loud.
Cindy leaned forward again, her elbows on the table, her voice eager and hopeful. “I messaged you, and you messaged back, and it was so easy to talk, just as I knew it would be. I was going to tell you, eventually, after we’d met. But you kept shutting me down, and then you said you had a girlfriend.”
The disgusted way she said girlfriend hung in the air like a bad smell. Cindy’s nose even twitched, and she wiped at it with the back of her hand. “I had to say something, otherwise I’d miss my chance.”
“Your chance for what?” Dash was equally terrified and riveted by what she was saying. He’d had online stalkers over the years, plenty of them. But he’d never interacted with one for this long. Did they all think this way, or was it just her?
“My chance to be with you.”
In that moment, he knew that she’d created a fantasy of who he was and what they could be. And that by agreeing to meet with her, he’d fed that fantasy and given her some kind of false hope. She’d built him up to a point of thinking they might actually be together. He didn’t want to hurt her but understood she had the power to hurt him, if she wanted.
“Then, why would you tell someone about this part of my life that you know is so personal?” he pressed.
“Dash, I didn’t. I would never betray you.”
“I can’t have anything more come out about me so, please, just don’t go to the press again.” His voice had become shaky at the mere thought that more secrets of his would be revealed.
“Believe me.”
Something about the way she said that made him wonder if he might.
She reached her hand out again, but this time she held a doll out toward him. Cindy was a knitter, and apparently she’d done a new craft.
“It’s you.” She turned the thing over to reveal a little Dash doll with a white T-shirt, detailed tattoos, and the brooding glare he’d perfected for so many of his indie films. He wouldn’t admit it in front of her, but the resemblance was uncanny. She had talent. “I love you,” she added.
As Cindy pushed the doll closer to him, Dash exhaled sharply and forced his features to remain neutral. He’d agreed to meet his stalker, and he’d gotten unique gifts from fans in the past, so while a handmade doll of himself was odd, it could’ve been worse: the doll didn’t appear to be made out of human hair, for example. He just wasn’t sure what the best next step was here. He was not about to hold a doll version of himself...or play with it? What did people do with something like this?
“You’re very talented,” he eventually offered.
“I could make you so happy. I already know everything about you, Dash. Where you get take-out food, your favorite candy store, the type of clay you work with. We could be together.” The hopeful expression on her face almost made him want to hug her. Then she pointedly tapped the doll’s chest. “All three of us.”
As much as he didn’t want Cindy in his life—and now she was really starting to freak him out—he also didn’t want her to suffer. Unrequited love could burn a hole through your core and not stop until you were ash. He didn’t want that for this person, and he could see what looked like real loneliness, not malice, in Cindy’s eyes.