I blink and refocus on him. “Sorry, what?”
Josh gives me a patient smile. “I asked if you wanted to split the pappardelle.”
“Oh. Sure. Yeah.”
He signals the waiter over, and I take a sip of water, trying to steady myself.
This was a mistake. I just need to get through dinner, go home, and never talk to him again.
I’m debating whether I should make an excuse to leave early when movement near the front door catches my eye.
Echo’s here and my stomach drops so fast it feels like I’m going to be sick.
Fuck.
He stops just inside the entrance, scanning the restaurant, cataloging every exit, every face, every potential threat. Then his eyes find mine. And they’re cold.
Not the controlled calm I’m used to. Not the careful neutrality he wears like armor. Cold. Hard. Lethal.
My eyes widen, and I open my mouth, desperate to say something that’ll get me up from this table before Echo reaches it. But my brain stalls, and he’s already moving.
Echo cuts through the dining room with long, purposeful strides that make the space feel smaller. People glance up as he passes. A waiter steps aside instinctively. Even the indistinct murmur of conversation seems to dip as he approaches.
Echo doesn’t just walk into a room. He fills it. And right now, standing at the edge of our table, he seems to tower over everything. Over Josh. Over the chandelier above us. Over the whole fucking restaurant. I have to tilt my head back just to meet his gaze.
He’s wearing his dark coat, the one that makes his shoulders look even broader. His jaw is tight. His hands are still tucked into his pockets, but there’s tension radiating off him in waves. He looks like he’s holding himself back from doing something violent.
I study his face for a beat, searching for something. Softness, hesitation, anything that tells me he’s not about to cause a scene. But there’s nothing. Just that cold, controlled fury I’ve only seen once before. In the alley.
My chest tightens with a confusing tangle of relief and dread. Relief, because the part of me that craves his presence is happy to see him. And dread, because I know he’s not here just to talk.
“Bambi,” he says quietly. “Let’s go.”
Josh’s eyes ping-pong between me and Echo.
“What are you doing here?” I ask, my voice barely above a whisper.
Echo exhales and levels Josh with an icy glare.
“Getting you away from him.”
Josh flinches, his polite smile faltering. “I’m sorry?”
Echo ignores him and sets his gaze on me.
“He’s dangerous, Bambi.”
Josh laughs once and swallows. “What are you talking about?”
“He googled you.” Echo says, clenching his jaw. “Before you started seeing each other, he knew everything about you.”
Echo’s words land like a bomb, and silence crashes over the table. I can hear the low rumblings of conversation from the tables around us. The soft clinking of silverware against porcelain. But at our table, there's nothing but complete and utter silence.
Echo doesn’t repeat himself. He just stands there staring Josh down like he’s waiting for him to crack.
“What?” Josh shakes his head and gives Echo a tight-lipped smile. “Are you serious? Everyone googles people before they go out with them.”
I chew on my lip. He’s right. Everyone does that. I did it too, before Josh and I started dating.
