Page 93 of Stalkers Anonymous

Cooper’s Grill has a warm, welcoming atmosphere that always instantly lifts my mood. The interior has exposed brick walls lined with local sports memorabilia, mismatched wooden tables that have clearly seen decades of family dinners, and the constant hum of conversation mixed with classic rock playing softly in the background. It’s the kind of place where you order comfort food and nobody judges you for eating too much bread or your weight in mozzarella sticks.

Not that I need permission to eat too much bread. I’m an adult. I’ll carb-load if I want to.

Cole is already seated when I arrive, studying the menu with the same focused attention he brings to everything. The man probably analyzes restaurant menus like they contain state secrets. He looks up when I approach, and that devastatingly handsome smile spreads across his face as he stands to greet me, but he looks more tired than usual.

“You look beautiful,” he says, and the sincerity in his voice makes my cheeks heat.

“Thank you.” I slip into the booth across from him. “Have you been here before?”

“A few times. Great burgers, and they’re fast enough that you won’t be late for your shift.”

I pause in the middle of opening my menu, glancing up at him. “How did you know I’m working tonight?”

“You mentioned it yesterday, didn’t you?” Cole’s expression doesn’t change, but there’s an awkward flicker in his eyes. “I could have sworn you did.”

I try to remember our conversation, but I’m almost certain I didn’t mention my schedule. We talked about meeting for dinner, about how good it would be to see each other again, about whether pineapple belongs on pizza (it does). But I don’t think I said anything about work.

“Right,” I say slowly, though uncertainty gnaws at me. “Maybe I did.”

The waitress appears before I can think too much about it.

“What can I get you folks to drink tonight?” She looks to me.

“Iced tea would be great.”

“And for you, honey?” she says as she turns to Cole.

“Just water, please,” Cole says.

“Perfect. Are you ready to order food, or do you need a minute to look at the menu?”

“I’d like a cobb salad with ranch on the side,” I say, folding my menu and immediately regretting not ordering the burger. Why do I always do this? Order the salad like I’m trying to impress someone, then spend the whole meal staring longingly at other people’s fries.

“I’ll take a bacon cheeseburger with fries,” Cole says without needing to look at the menu.

Of course he does.

As the waitress walks away, Cole leans back in the booth, looking more relaxed than when I first arrived. There’s something different about him tonight.

“So,” he says, after we get our drinks, “important question.”

“Uh-oh.”

“If you could live anywhere in the world, where would it be?”

I consider it, twirling my straw in my iced tea. “Somewhere warm. Maybe the Mediterranean. Little villa overlooking the water, nobody asking me to start an IV at three in the morning.”

“Specific.”

“I’ve had a lot of night shifts to think about it.” I tilt my head. “What about you?”

“Iceland.”

“Iceland? That’s…isolated.”

“That’s the appeal.” He shrugs, a small smile playing at his lips. “All that empty space. The northern lights. Hot springs in the middle of nowhere. It feels like another planet.”

“You’ve been?”