Chapter 1Monday, February 13
When I board the train, the man sits in his usual spot. He always occupies the same seat in the back corner of the silent car, a four-seater with a table, always with a notebook open in front of him. This morning, his eyebrows are drawn together, creating two vertical lines above his nose, and he taps the pen against his chin, as though whatever it is he’s scribbling in his notebook is giving him trouble.
The man is gorgeous, and I can’t stop looking at him. Not classically handsome—his nose is too big and a little crooked, his brow ridge on the heavy side with one eyebrow arched a little higher than the other as though he’s perpetually asking “what?” His face is narrow, austere, and I imagine he’s a perfect negotiator, giving nothing away. Everything about h
