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“She’s not your friend.” My voice was cold, controlled. “And you’re harassing her. Leave. Now.”

Blake tucked his thumbs in his pockets and glanced around. “Last I checked, this is a public restaurant.”

“You can be here. You can’t approach our table uninvited after you’ve been told to leave someone alone.” I stepped slightly in front of Jo. “This is your last warning. Leave, or I will arrest you for harassment.”

Blake looked between us, something ugly flickering across his face. “Not worth it, anyway. Plenty of fish in the sea.”

“Goodbye, Blake,” I said flatly.

Blake held my gaze for another long moment, then turned and walked toward the exit.

But not before saying, loud enough for other tables to hear: “Enjoy your pity date, sweetheart.”

I felt Jo flinch behind me. Other diners were looking at us now, whispering.

I sat back down, jaw tight. “Are you okay?”

She nodded, looking down at her lap. “I’m fine.”

“Jo—”

“I’m sorry,” she said, looking up at him. Tears filled her eyes. “I’m so sorry he ruined our date.”

“He didn’t.” I reached across the table again, taking both her hands. “Look at me.”

She did, blinking back tears. One slipped free and rolled down her cheek.

“This is not your fault. You have nothing to apologize for. That man is harassing you, and I’m going to make damn sure he doesn’t get another chance.”

“Lane—”

“Jo.” My voice was firm but gentle. “This isn’t coincidence. He’s escalating. The grocery store, the note on your car, and now showing up where you are. He’s following you. You need to get a restraining order.”

The words made her wince. “You think he followed us here?”

“I think it’s possible.” I pulled out my phone. “I’m calling this in.”

I called Sara Henderson directly, because I knew she was on duty. I gave her the description and informed her that he had warrants, and to approach with backup. As I talked, I watched Jo. She pulled her emotions together, but I could still see tension in her shoulders. When I hung up, I signaled our server.

“Do you want to leave?” I asked her. “We can get the food to go⁠—”

“No.” Jo straightened her shoulders. “No, I’m not letting him ruin this. We’re staying. We’re having dinner. And we’re not giving him the power to drive us away.”

Pride swelled in my chest. “You’re sure?”

“I’m sure. I’m tired of being afraid of him. I want to finish our date. I want to sit here with you and eat good food and pretend Blake Paulson doesn’t exist.”

I studied her for a long moment, then nodded. “Okay. But if you change your mind⁠—”

“I’ll tell you.”

Our food arrived, and we tried to recapture the ease of earlier. It took a while, but gradually, things normalized.

By the time dessert came—tiramisu we shared—she was laughing again.

“Thank you,” she said softly.

“For what?”