Page 19 of Stalkers Anonymous

“Thai place?” I suggest as we step out onto the street.

“Too loud,” Jack says. “There’s that café two blocks over. The one with the good coffee.”

“Sounds good,” I say, shoving my hands in my pockets.

We weave through midday pedestrian traffic on Mountain Avenue. Fort Collins is busy this time of day, with college students rushing between classes, office workers on lunch breaks, tourists browsing the boutiques and breweries that line the downtown streets.

I automatically scan our surroundings as we walk. Exit routes. Security cameras. The positioning of parked cars. Old habits from my military intelligence days, the hypervigilance that Jack understands because he shares it.

“So,” Jack says as we wait at a crosswalk, “how’d your first meeting go?”

There it is.

“Fine,” I reply, keeping my tone neutral. “Just what you’d expect. Circle of chairs. People talking about their problems.”

“And they assigned you an accountability partner, right?”

I’m mildly surprised he remembers the details. “Yeah. His name’s Tyler. He’s…persistent.”

Jack makes a sound halfway between a laugh and a scoff. “Good. That’s what you need.” It would be wishful thinking to hope this is the end of our conversation about group therapy, but at least I get a short reprieve as we approach Hot For Here.

The café is a renovated brick building with large windows and a nice view of downtown. It’s busy but not packed. As we step inside, the smell of fresh coffee and baked goods makes my stomach grumble. It’s easy—too easy?—for me to forget to take breaks and eat when the work on my desk gets complex. I scan the space out of habit.

Behind the counter, a young woman with dark hair scraped into a clip is squinting at a paper cup like it’s personally wronged her. She’s maybe twenty. Her name tag reads Madison. Holding the cup out, she announces to the entire café, “I have a caramel latte for Car-on? Carron?”

A woman in matching athleisure steps forward, grabbing her coffee from the girl’s hand. “It’s Karen. Like the name.”

Madison nods with enthusiastic patience, like she’s used to being corrected many, many times.

And then I freeze.

Because there she is.

Hailey.

She’s sitting at a table near the window with another woman, both of them laughing at something on a phone screen. Her light-golden hair is pulled back in a ponytail, and she’s wearing scrubs under a jacket. She must be going to work soon.

My heart races at the sight of her. She hasn’t seen me yet, and I’m thankful for that because I’m frozen in place, caught in a trance as I take her in.

I told myself I wouldn’t look her up. Trying to find her would have meant crossing the same line that landed me in therapy in the first place. But this? Running into her totally at random?

It feels a little bit like the universe rewarding me for good behavior.

Cosmic wingman. Excellent.

“You okay?” Jack’s voice breaks through my thoughts. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

“I’m fine,” I say quickly, forcing myself to look away from Hailey. “Just…recognized someone.”

Jack follows where my gaze held. “The blonde in scrubs?”

“Yeah. We met on a hike a few days ago. There was an accident, and we stabilized a guy until medical got there.”

“Huh.” Jack’s expression shifts into something soft and curious. “Small world.”

We approach the counter, and I’m hyperaware of Hailey’s position relative to us. If she looks up, she’ll see me. Part of me wants her to. Part of me is terrified she will.

Focus, Matthews.