The man is fairly young, perhaps mid-thirties, and fairly attractive, too, though that’s not what caught my attention. There’s this sort of intensity that burns in his dark eyes, like the newspaper he’s staring at might ignite. I pause on my walk through Central Park, just to look at him a little longer. His eyes move fractionally across the page, but his posture is stiff. Occasionally, he glances up, glaring at the people who pass too near to his seat on the bench.

There’s something about him that has me mesmerized, has me wishing I stood a little closer to him. I take one step towards him, and another. He still hasn’t noticed me; his gaze is intent on the page. Finally, I move close enough to take the seat next to him.

“Hi,” I say.

“Hello,” he says, but he does not lift his gaze.

“I’m Chloe.”

He looks up at me, a smile on his lips.

I glance down, shy, and I see it. The pencil sketch of his face, and the bold banner across the top that reads “WANTED FOR MURDER.”

His smile widens as he sees me gasp. “It’s very nice to meet you.”

Kristen Young