Page 22 of Stalkers Anonymous

The two of them are conspiring, and it’s about as subtle as a brick through a window. But I’m definitely not complaining.

“I’ll see you back at the office,” Jack says to me, clapping my shoulder. He pauses, looking me dead in the eye. “Whenever, Coke. Really.”

I’m going to murder him in his sleep.

And just like that, they’re gone, Rachel following Jack toward the door while throwing a not-at-all-subtle wink back at Hailey.

“That was…” Hailey starts.

“Incredibly obvious?” I finish, rubbing the back of my neck.

“I was going to say ‘sweet,’ but yeah, ‘incredibly obvious’ works, too.” She gestures to the table where Jack and I were sitting. “Should we sit? Unless your boss was lying and you really do need to get back to work?”

“Jack basically just gave me the rest of the afternoon off.” I pick up my coffee and take a sip, testing its temperature. It’s gone cold, but with Hailey in front of me, it’s hard to care. “What are you drinking?”

She glances at her nearly empty cup. “Vanilla latte. But I can—”

“Let me get you another one.” The words come out more insistently than I intended. “I mean, if you want. No pressure.”

Her smile widens. “That would be nice. Thank you.”

I head to the counter to order, giving myself a mental pep talk while I wait. Don’t be weird. Just be normal.

Madison perks up when she sees me coming. “Back already, Coke?”

“It’s Cole.”

She nods, giving me a smidge of side-eye. “Right. What can I get you, Cole?”

“A vanilla latte, please. For Hailey.”

Her brow furrows, the marker poised over the cup. She mouths the name once, then twice. “How do you spell that?”

“H-A-I-L-E-Y. Hailey.”

“Got it.” She scribbles confidently. “Anything else?”

“That’ll do it. Thanks.” I pay, and while I wait, Madison calls across the café again. “Order for Hayride! I have a vanilla latte for Hayride!”

A guy in a beanie at the pickup counter looks at her like she’s grown a second head. “Did you just say ‘Hayride’?”

“That’s what’s on the cup!”

I clear my throat, stepping up to the counter. “I think that one’s mine. For Hailey.”

“Oh!” Madison beams when she sees me. “Hayride, Hailey. Potato, potato.”

After a beat of consideration I know I’ll regret, I ask, “Don’t you mean ‘po-tay-to, po-tah-to’?”

“Not all of us took French in high school, Coke. You don’t have to be rude about it.”

I take the cup without another word and return to the table, where Hailey is sitting comfortably with her hands folded in her lap.

Seeing her all prim and contained makes me wonder what it looks like when she lets herself unravel. I force that thought out of my head as I settle into the chair across from her.

I set the latte down in front of her, label facing out.

She looks at it, then looks at me, then back to the cup. “Does that say—”