Simmons turns his head as he follows my gaze.
His gun is still aimed at me, but his attention isn’t all there.
Then.
I move.
My thoughts shift aside as muscle memory and training kick in.
First, I grab his wrist and twist it hard, angling his gun to the floor.
A second later, I jump up from my seat. My leg snaps out in a sweeping motion, hitting Simmons just below the knees.
With a tremendous wrench, I yank the gun from his hand.
Something pops in his wrist, and he yowls in pain.
His knees buckle.
Then I’m on him, pinning his hands behind his back, using my weight to help subdue him.
But it’s not over yet.
Simmons is still spitting curses and wriggling beneath me, and with the gun in one hand, it’ll be hard to restrain him.
“Here.” A fabric apron appears beside me. And holding it, Hollis, who’s very much not under the table. “You can use this,” she says. “The strings are really long. So if you wrap them around enough times…”
Then she does something even braver.
With only a small hesitation, she asks, “Do you want me to tie him up? So you can keep the gun on him?”
“I can help.” It’s the owner, hovering above me. Guilt is etched into his features. “I’m so sorry I didn’t help before. But my grandkids…” He grimaces. “I used to hunt. Deer, mostly. But I can handle a handgun. If you want me to hold it for you.”
While I’m loath to hand it over to anyone, I can see the value in his offer. And while I don’t doubt Hollis would pull the trigger if she had to, I don’t want to put that on her. So I hold out the gun to the owner as I say, “Thanks. And if we could get someone to call the police?”
“I’m doing it now,” the waitress replies. Her voice is still thick with tears. She’s kneeling on the floor by her discarded phone, attempting to make the call with shaking hands.
As I’m tying Simmons up, Hollis darts away, returning a few seconds later with another apron. “For his feet,” she offers. “So you can be sure he won’t get away.”
It feels like a giant hand is inside my chest, squeezing.
Surviving an attempted robbery slash murder attempt shouldnotbe romantic.
But somehow, it is.
Or at least, everything about Hollis makes it that way.
And as I look up at her, taking in her determined expression and the stubborn jut of her chin, I justknowshe’s the perfect woman for me.
Brave. Smart. Caring. Unflappable.Incredible.
And did I mention beautiful, as well?
Once I have Simmons thoroughly restrained, I get back to my feet again.
Hollis rushes at me, flinging her arms around me and hugging me hard.
“Oh, Dave,” she whispers against my neck, for the first time since this all started sounding close to tears. “I was so worried he would shoot you.”
