Page 31 of Stalkers Anonymous

I close the journal and lean back on the couch, rubbing my hands over my face. This should be simple. A woman I like asked me for help with something I’m knowledgeable about. We’re having dinner to discuss it and to get to know one another. It’s normal.

So why does it feel like I’m already sliding down a dangerous slope?

Because I know myself.

I know how this starts—with good intentions and a genuine desire to help. And I know how it can end—with violated boundaries and destroyed trust.

But this time will be different, I tell myself. This time, I’m aware. I’ve only done one whole therapy session, but I’m committed to more. I have Tyler holding me accountable. I know the warning signs. I can do this.

I have to.

Chapter Eight: Hailey

I check my reflection in the rearview mirror one more time, smoothing down a strand of hair that woke up and chose violence. My hands are shaking slightly, and I grip the steering wheel harder to steady them.

It’s just dinner. Just a casual dinner with a super fucking hot guy to talk about home security systems.

Except it doesn’t feel casual. Not with the way my stomach flips every time I think about seeing him again, or the extra twenty minutes I spent picking out what to wear, finally settling on dark jeans and a soft-green sweater that Rachel insists makes my eyes pop.

I grab my purse and step out of my car, locking it. The street where I’ve parked, just down from the restaurant, is well lit and busy with Friday evening diners. Safe. Normal.

Not the kind of place a person could get away with leaving a note on my windshield unnoticed.

I’ve tried not to think about it, to convince myself it was just some random creep being weird. But I haven’t been able to shake the feeling that someone’s watching me.

The cool evening air hits me as I walk the half block to Antonio’s. The restaurant sits on a quiet corner, its warm light spilling onto the sidewalk through large windows. String lights are draped across the outdoor patio area, though it’s too cold tonight for anyone to sit outside.

Through the windows, I can see Cole already seated at a table near the back. He’s looking at his phone, so I take a moment to appreciate the sharp line of his jaw, the way his hair falls slightly across his forehead. He’s wearing a dark button-down shirt that fits him perfectly, and my mouth goes dry.

Pull yourself together, Hailey. It’s too early to lose focus. You can’t spend the entire dinner with your legs pressed together, trying to ease the ache.

I take one last deep breath and push through the door. The teenage hostess greets me with a smile.

“I’m meeting someone,” I say, gesturing toward Cole’s table. He dominates the curved banquette, even though the table is big enough for four.

“Of course! Go right ahead.”

Cole spots my approach, and the smile that spreads across his face makes my knees weak. He stands immediately, and—is he taller than I remember?

“Hi,” I say, suddenly feeling shy.

“Hey.” He extends his arms for a hug, but waits for me to step in and accept it. I grin, wrapping my arms around his waist. He lets out a satisfied sound and pulls me in tight. We stand like that for a few seconds, during which I enjoy the hell out of his clean, sandalwood scent. “You look beautiful,” he says, a hand on my lower back to encourage me to sit.

He’s perfect. Hot and perfect. I’m fucked.

Heat rises to my cheeks. “Thanks. You clean up pretty well yourself.”

He laughs, a warm sound that eases some of my nerves. “Well, I figured I should probably wear something nicer than my hiking clothes or office attire.”

“The climbing gear was a good look, though,” I tease, settling into the booth. He slides in beside me.

A young female waiter appears with menus and water glasses, giving us a moment to look over our options. Out of the corner of my eye, I watch the way he studies the menu. He’s giving it his full attention, furrowed brow and all.

“The pasta is supposed to be incredible,” he says. “Homemade. But honestly, everything looks good.”

“It smells incredible.” I glance around the restaurant, taking in the dim lighting, the soft piano music in the background, the couples scattered throughout the space. “It’s really nice, but not too fancy.”

“That’s what I was going for.” He sets down his menu and offers his hand, palm-up, on the table between us. I don’t hesitate—just slide my hand into his and enjoy the way warmth blooms between us. “It’s really good to see you again, Hailey.”