Who is this man, and how has he not been snatched up by now?
Wait. Orhashe? He’s giving off single vibes and I don’t see a ring. But what if I’m wrong?
“Are you single?” I ask before I can stop myself.
He doesn’t hesitate. “Yes. Very much so.”
Relief expands my chest. “Me too.”
We share another glance, this one loaded with emotion.
Then, of course, the waitress comes over to interrupt us again.
Once she’s gone, leaving two dishes of tiramisu behind, Dave asks, “So, since you love animals, do you have any pets? I’ve been thinking about getting a dog, but I’m not sure?—”
The bell over the front door jangles, somehow jarring even in the dull hum of sound in the restaurant.
Unlike when I came inside, this time it seems almost… ominous. Threatening.
My attention jumps to the person coming through the door.
It’s a man. Tall. Lanky. He’s wearing worn jeans and a sweatshirt with the hood pulled up, disguising his face. One hand rests on the door handle, the other is shoved deep in his pants pocket.
As I look at the man, I notice an odd weight dragging down the fabric of his sweatshirt. A wallet? A phone? Or something else?
When I look back at Dave, he’s tense. Still. His eyes are glued to the newcomer, narrowing slightly as he inspects him.
The fizzy feeling in my chest falls flat.
Just like my gut knew the man at the bar was trouble, and it knew Dave was the opposite; I knowsomethingis wrong.
Could this be the man at the bar? I don’t think so, but I can’t see his face. This isn’t what he was wearing earlier, but if he went home and changed… It could be.
No. There’s no way it’s him. I’m just on edge after what happened earlier. This guy is probably harmless.
I’m sure he is. After all, what are the chances of?—
“Don’t move!”
The voice is loud. Sharp. Angry.
Dave’s fingers tighten around mine. Not painfully, but protectively.
The man—the hooded stranger—yanks his other hand from his pocket and brandishes a gun. Then, even more terrifyingly, he cocks the trigger.
“Don’t fucking move!”he shouts. The barrel of the gun swings around in a semicircle, briefly pausing to point at each person in the dining room. “If you move, if you even think about reaching for a phone, I’ll shoot you.”
My pulse rockets to triple speed.
Perspiration prickles at the back of my neck.
“It’s okay,” Dave murmurs, just loud enough for me to hear him. “I’ll handle this.”
What?
He’s just a firefighter. And from what I can see, an unarmed one at that.
The armed stranger pins an angry look at Dave. “Don’t even think about it! If I see anyone reach for their phone, they’re dead!”
