Page 85 of Stalkers Anonymous

As we eat, I find myself relaxing in a way I haven’t in weeks. Maybe it’s the wine. Maybe it’s the food. Maybe it’s the way Cole looks at me like I’m the only girl in the world.

“Okay,” I say, setting down my fork with a sudden seriousness. “Confession time.”

Cole’s face does something complicated—a flash of genuine panic crossing his features. His fork hovers midair, and I swear I see him stop breathing for a second.

Interesting.

“Confession?” he repeats, his voice slightly strained.

“Mhmm.” I take a slow sip of wine, drawing out the moment because his reaction is fascinating. What does this man have to hide? And why does that hint of fear make him even more attractive? “There’s something I need to know about you. It’s important.”

“Okay…” He sets his fork down like he’s bracing for impact. “What is it?”

“What’s your favorite movie of all time?”

The tension drains from his shoulders so fast it’s almost comical. He lets out a breath that sounds suspiciously like relief. “Jesus. You scared me.”

“Did I?” I grin innocently. “Why? What did you think I was going to ask?”

“Nothing.” He says it too quickly, but he’s smiling. “Nothing at all.”

I file that reaction away for later analysis. “Well? The movie. I need to know, and I should warn you—the wrong answer will result in swift and severe judgment.”

“What constitutes a wrong answer?”

“I’ll know it when I hear it.”

He laughs, shaking his head. “That’s not fair. You’re setting me up to fail.”

“Life isn’t fair, Cole. Neither is this dinner table. Now talk.”

He considers for a moment, swirling his wine. “Die Hard.” He pauses. “And before you say anything, yes, I know how to watch a movie. I watch movies way better than I open wine.”

“Wow. Setting the bar awfully low for yourself tonight.”

“I have been humbled, Hailey. I am a humbled man.”

“Die Hard.” I narrow my eyes. “Is that your actual favorite, or is that the answer you give because it’s safely masculine and universally acceptable?”

“It’s my actual favorite.” He looks almost offended. “It’s a perfect film. Action, humor, Alan Rickman being the best villain of all time. Plus, it’s a Christmas movie, which makes it seasonally versatile.”

“Oh God, you’re one of those people.”

“One of what people?”

“The Die-Hard-is-a-Christmas-movie people. You probably have strong opinions about whether a hot dog is a sandwich.”

“It’s obviously not a sandwich. The bread is connected.”

“Wrong.” I point my fork at him. “A hot dog is a taco.”

He stares at me for a long moment, then bursts out laughing—a warm, loud, completely unguarded sound. It transforms his whole face, makes him look younger, somehow.

“A taco,” he repeats. “That’s…actually kind of brilliant.”

“Your surprise at my genius is duly noted.” I take another bite of steak. “Okay, your turn. Ask me something important. And it has to be important.”

Cole considers this, his expression thoughtful. “Okay. If you could only eat one food for the rest of your life, what would it be?”