It was doing a lot more than drizzling now, and the hood of my sweatshirt was soaking up the water like a thirsty sponge. I ducked into the recessed stoop of a vacant retail space across the street from the Ninth Life and crouched down. I nodded a greeting to the only other occupant of the space, a grimy old fellow who looked just this side of death’s door. He offered me a toothless smile.

The shop would be closing soon. The artists were surely finishing up with their final clients of the day before cleaning up, if they hadn’t done so already. I could see their silhouettes through the fogged glass, and I yearned to go in. That shop was my home as much as the apartment overhead was. More so, maybe.

With the chime of a bell, the shop door opened. My heartbeat sped up. A waif of a young woman emerged and brought with her a wave of disappointment. I’d been hoping for a familiar face. Oh, who was I kidding—I’d been hoping to see Nik’s face.

I watched the door from that dingy alcove for another ten or fifteen minutes, but nobody else came out of the shop. Deciding it was time to stop tempting fate, I stood and started walking down the sidewalk, hands stuffed into my pockets and head bowed. It was stupid of me to come here in the first place, knowing I’d only be able to watch my old life from the outside looking in. I felt worse than before. Like even more of an outcast.

The bell over the door chimed again, and I froze. After a quick glance over my shoulder, I hurried to the next recess in the storefronts, the entryway to a desserts-only café, and huddled there, peeking around the edge of my sodden hood to watch the person who’d left the Ninth Life.

It was Nik. He leaned back against the broad shop window to the left of the door, a cigarette held up to his lips between two fingers and a silver lighter in his other hand. He was wearing a black hooded sweatshirt and worn, gray jeans. Though he had many more, only a few of his tattoos were visible—most notably the Egyptian goddess inked into his neck, her outstretched wings wrapping around to just barely touch in the back. His dark brown hair was buzzed on the sides, the longer top portion swept back, and his face was clean-shaven. His was a jaw that didn’t require the assistance of a five-o’clock shadow to look strong, a perfect finish to the rest of his chiseled face, slightly crooked nose and all.

He took a deep draw on his cigarette as he stowed his lighter back in his jeans. He blew out the smoke, then rested his head back against the glass, his eyelids drifting shut.

The door to the café opened behind me. “Excuse me, miss. Are you waiting for a seat?”

I tossed the guy a half-assed glance over my shoulder. “No.” When my gaze returned to Nik, he was staring straight at me. Shit.