The third shadow was already in my apartment when I woke up at 6:17. Thankfully not leaning over me when I woke up, or even in my room, I just sensed I wasn't alone in the apartment. At least I wouldn't miss another day of work this time. On the heels of that thought I checked my watch to be sure I hadn't slept through Sunday. No. That was good. That was a small mercy. I heard the shadow moving about my living room and kitchen, opening and closing drawers. A nosy shadow, then. Please don't be another one like The Murderess, I whispered before opening my bedroom door and padding out. I watched the shadow look at a shelf where I had one framed picture next to a dead succulent.

"Hello!"

The shadow jumped. "You scared me!" I couldn't not laugh at that absurdity.

"I scared you?!" I laughed, "That's a first!"

Now the shadow smiled too and I was able to take him in. A boy shadow. Or, a man rather. I'm just going to come right out and say it. He was hot. In a Johnny Depp in Pirates of the Carribean kind of way. Not that he looked like a pirate. He was much cleaner cut than that. But the kind of hot where you're thinking, "This is not even a real thing. How can I be into this guy? He's a pirate for pity's sake." Or in this case, "He's not even fleshed out for pity's sake."

His build was lean and muscular as possible without having actual musculature. His smile was slow, like he considered every millimeter before letting it stretch wider. It made me think he did most things slow. "I'm Nora."

"You need more décor, Nora." The cadence of his words, and their similar sound made me smile even though normally I'd be on guard of anybody criticizing my lack of decoration.

"Decoration is sentimental. I try not to be."

"How is it sentimental?"

"Nobody puts up things they don't like. Everything makes them happy or nostalgic or thoughtful."

"Huh."

"Huh, what?" I might have been a little testy since The Murderess' visit.

"I'm just saying maybe a picture of a llama holding a glass of wine or something. Or a wood block that says 'It's 5 o'clock somewhere.'" He grinned that amazing slow grin. "Or not. This is nice too." He waved a smoky hand around my bare walls. I was getting made fun of. By a shadow. For my lack of home décor. What was this world?

"Noted."

"So what's goin' on?" He lay on my couch with his hands behind his head, ankles crossed, like we'd been friends for years. I played off his nonchalance and pushed his feet off my couch to sit down. If we were going to be chummy it should go both ways.

"Just the usual. Work. Life. Visits from shadowy guests." His smile was like the tide. You knew it was coming slowly in, then there it was, surprising me.

"Yeah. How've the visits been goin'?

"Good. Well, terrifying. Then maddening."

"What about now?" Was this shadow flirting with me? Could shadows flirt?! More importantly, was I into it? Yes. The answer was yes.

"Now? Well, besides some minor insults about the inside of my apartment, I think it's going okay. But who knows? What are you here to talk about? Because the last shadow just wanted to tell me what a rotten person I am."

His laugh was late autumn leaves rolling around in a November wind. They wrestled into a whirlwind, then blew off and I could only sit in awe of the natural beauty of it. "You must have met Doris," he said, his leafy laugh tumbling away.

"Doris? No, The Murderess."

His next laugh nearly distracted me from what he was trying to tell me. "Yup, that's Doris. Tells people she's The Murderess. Intimidating, huh?"

"She was actually..." I trailed off. Doris? Doris sounded like somebody I wanted to partner up with at a knit-a-thon. Not a brutal, black otherworldly being.

"Her tactics are a little more 'tough love.' Mine are just 'love.'" Ohmygosh, that smile again. I hadn't been out of the game so long that I didn't know flirting when I saw it. My pajama tag itched my back. Gwen gave me these pajamas when I used to make puns. They had little spatulas all over them and the shirt said, "Catch you on the flip side." I tried to be embarrassed, but they were cozy and cute and at least I'd changed after I dripped syrup on the ones I wore yesterday. I shook my head. Also, who cares what this guy thinks! He isn't real! I scolded myself.

"I'm not here to tell you you suck, that's for sure. We can talk about anything you want."

Anything I want? "Do you think I should get a kitten? Or a puppy?" The question surprised me. I'd barely thought about Little Cut's sister and her parade of homeless pets. A pet didn't make sense for me. I didn't want one. But I supposed it was as good a question as any. Plus Hot Shadow was hemming and hawing, probably thinking of a polite way to tell me I am not fit to be a pet owner.

"I don't know," he finally said. "But this is what I like to do instead of asking 'what should I do?' Tweak that question a little and ask 'who should I be?' Should you be a person with a cat or dog?" He shrugged one sculpted, smoky shoulder. "Maybe."

"Very philosophical of you."

Slow grin. "Now I get to ask a question."

"Oh! Okay. That's not how it worked with the others."

"Well. That's how it works with me." He jerked his chin at my arm. "What's your tattoo say?"

I put my hand over it quickly. It was just above my heart, which pounded a little harder at the question. Nobody could see it normally, but in the flimsiness of the pajama tank top, a corner peeked out. I pulled the edge of my top over it. "Nothing."

"Weird word to have tattooed on your heart." He teased, but his smile this time was one of concern. "Fine. You don't have to answer, but then I get another question." I folded my arms. "What..." he looked up, pensive. "What is your favorite meal?

"To eat or cook?" I'd gotten this question a million times in my previous life. He was skating on the outskirts of a thawing pond, but if he skated gently, I would answer.

"To cook."

I knew he would say that. I stepped onto the perilous pond with him. "I make an amazing artichoke beef tenderloin."

"You make? Or you used to make?" And there was the shift in the ice.

"Used to. My turn for a question." He put his palms up like he was prepared to receive the question or a stack of logs. "Why are you here?"

"To teach you to be vulnerable again."

"I'm vulnerable all the time. I'm sitting in my ridiculous pajamas having a conversation with a complete stranger at this very moment. It doesn't get much more vulnerable than this."

"Tell me about your parents."

My throat constricted. "That's not a question." I stood up and walked into the kitchen. Once I was there I couldn't think of a single thing to do. I pretended to be looking for something very elusive in a cupboard or drawer or refrigerator.

The shadow followed me. "Fair enough. Won't you please tell me about your parents?"

"If you're asking, then you already know about them."

"It's an exercise in vulnerability. I don't think it's in there either," he added when I opened and shut the toaster oven.

"What's your name?"

"Simon."

"Simon, I think you know I just... can't."