Page 34 of Stalkers Anonymous

The woman, who the entire restaurant now knows is named Brittany, hasn’t moved this entire time. I’m not entirely convinced she’s breathing.

“Brittany Marie. Will you m—”

“No.”

The word is as hard and sharp as a slap.

“What?”

“No,” she repeats, her voice flat.

She’s already standing, her napkin long forgotten as it tumbles to the floor. She quickly grabs her purse off the back of her chair. The violinist is still playing.

Can he not read a room?

She’s halfway across the dining room when she stops, doubles back, snatches her wineglass off the table, drains it in one long pull, sets it down with a loud clink, and walks out.

The door swings shut behind her, leaving the entire restaurant consumed by absolute silence.

The violinist plays three more increasingly uncertain notes, then trails off.

The man—still on one knee, still holding the open ring box—says, very softly, “Brittany?”

The restaurant manager rushes toward him, urging him to stand and pull himself together. Everyone else resumes eating, though I sense what we all really want to do is talk about whatever the fuck that was.

I exhale slowly. “Holy shit.”

Cole runs a calloused hand through his hair, looking stunned. “A Bluetooth earpiece.”

I lean forward, shaking my head in bewilderment. “A Bluetooth earpiece!”

A man two tables over clears his throat before shoveling a too-large bite of pasta into his mouth. The room’s volume gradually rebuilds, hushed at first, then restoring itself like nothing happened. Eventually, the violinist sneaks toward the exit.

“That,” I say, “was the most unhinged thing I have ever witnessed. And I work in an ER.”

“She really came back for that wine.”

“She committed. That’s a woman who knew exactly what she wanted and what she didn’t. I would have gone back for the wine, too.”

“Honestly? Power move.” Cole chuckles, and I love the way he’s smiling at me. “I’m impressed.”

Our waitress drifts past our table, refilling our waters without being asked. There’s a shit-eating grin on her face as she watches us eye the now-empty table.

Cole and I fall into easy conversation, trading stories and learning about each other. I discover he’s from Colorado originally, that he’s been hiking these mountains since he was a kid. And that his favorite trail is actually Greyrock, which I haven’t done yet.

He tells me about his time in Afghanistan, carefully skirting around the harder details but sharing enough for me to understand the way his experience shaped him. I tell him about growing up on Army bases. He didn’t have the same upbringing, but he understands life on base.

“Do you miss it?” he asks. “Moving around?”

“Sometimes. But I’m discovering I really love having roots. Choosing my own place, building a life here. Colorado in the fall is my favorite place to be. The oranges and yellows in the mountains are to die for. I’ve been wanting to take a drive one of these days to go see them.”

Cole perks up, then thinks for a moment before speaking. “I have an idea, but I’m not sure if you’re going to like it or not.”

I lean in, resting my chin on my hand. “You’ve got my attention. What is it?”

“Skydiving.” The grin that spreads across his face is wicked and full of excitement. “In the mountains. The view is unbeatable.”

My hand flies to his forearm, gripping it tightly. His skin is warm and smooth under my palm. “I’ve always wanted to go, but no one will do it with me. You’d really go?”