Chapter Twenty-One Hailey
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?”
“Once, for work. Didn’t get to see much, but enough to know I want to go back.” His eyes get this faraway look. “There’s something about being in a place that quiet. Makes all the noise in your head go silent for a while.”
The vulnerability in that admission catches me off guard. For all his confidence, there are moments where Cole lets the mask slip just enough to show something deeper underneath.
“I get that,” I say softly. “That’s why I hike. The mountains don’t care about hospital drama or patient complaints. They’re just…there. Being mountains.”
“Exactly.”
Our food arrives, and I find myself relaxing into the easy rhythm of conversation. This is what I like about Cole—he doesn’t make every conversation feel like a job interview. He asks questions because he’s genuinely curious, not because he’s checking boxes.
“Okay, your turn,” I say, stealing one of his fries because I have no self-control. “Ask me something.”
“Biggest fear.”
“Going dark immediately, I see.”
“You said ask something. I’m asking.”
I think about it for a moment, debating between a joke answer and the truth. Something about the way he’s looking at me makes me choose honesty.
“Being invisible,” I finally say. “Not literally. But like, the fear that I could disappear and nobody would notice. That I don’t actually matter to anyone.”
Cole’s expression shifts into something serious. “That’s not possible.”
“Fears aren’t usually rational.”
“No, I mean—” He pauses, choosing his words carefully. “You’re not the kind of person who disappears. You take up space. In a good way. People notice you, Hailey. I notice you.”
The intensity in his voice makes my chest tight. “That’s… Thank you.”
“I’m not being nice. I’m being honest.”
We sit with that for a moment, then Cole clears his throat.
“Mine is losing control,” he offers. “Of myself. Of situations. The feeling that things are spiraling and I can’t stop them.”
“Is that why you’re so…”
“Intense?” He smiles wryly. “Probably. Turns out childhood trauma manifests in fun and exciting ways.”
For most of dinner, Cole talks about his work, about a particularly challenging client project that he makes sound both complicated and vaguely heroic. I find myself relaxing into the easy rhythm of our conversation.
He’s charming, attentive, genuinely interested in my thoughts about everything from hospital politics to my favorite hiking trails. This is the Cole I’ve been falling for—intelligent, calm, collected.
My salad is fine. His burger looks incredible. I steal another fry when he’s not looking, and it’s halfway to my mouth when he mentions how early I must have gotten up this morning to go for my run.
And I know—I know—I didn’t tell him about my running routine.
My salad turns leaden in my stomach. I put down the fry on the edge of my plate, unsure if I could bring myself to swallow another bite.
“Cole,” I say carefully. “How did you know I went on a run this morning?”
He freezes, a perfect still life of Man Eating Burger. For just a moment, his expression shows something that looks almost like panic before smoothing over.
“I guess I just assumed. I saw your tennis shoes next to the door when I was at your place. They looked more broken-in than just…social-media runner aesthetic.”
Is he trying to gaslight me right now? And was that supposed to be a compliment or a dig at the state of my shoes?
But Cole is looking at me with the same warm attention as always. I’m suddenly not sure what’s real anymore. Am I being paranoid because of the whole Lars Winters situation?
Is this what happens when you have one stalker—you start seeing red flags everywhere?
“Hmm,” I hum, though I think it’s a strange assumption, and it doesn’t sit well with me.
We finish dinner, both of us clearly aware that something has shifted. The easy flirtation from earlier has been replaced by more careful, measured conversation. Cole pays the bill despite my protests, walks me to my car, and kisses my cheek with the same gentle affection as always.
“Have a good shift,” he says, his hand lingering on my arm. “Be safe.”
“I will. See you soon?”
“Definitely. Text me when you get home in the morning?”
I nod, but as I drive toward the hospital, my mind is spinning with questions I don’t want to ask. How does Cole know my schedule when I don’t remember telling him those details? How does he know when I exercise?
And why am I only noticing this now?
Maybe because I was too busy being charmed by his face. And his arms. And the way he looks at me like I’m the most important person in any room.
Stupid handsome men with their stupid handsome distractions.
The emergency department is moderately busy when I arrive—the sweet spot between “boring” and “absolute chaos.” I’m relieved to see Rachel behind the nurses’ station, her red curls pulled back in a messy bun, reviewing patient charts.
“Hey, stranger,” she says, looking up with a grin. “It feels like forever since we’ve worked the same shift.”
“I know. How’s the physical therapy clinic treating you?”
“Good, but the hours are weird. I miss working with you regularly.” She studies my expression more closely, her grin fading. “Everything okay? You look like someone told you your favorite show got canceled.”
I consider deflecting, but Rachel knows me too well. She’d see right through it, then pester me until I cracked anyway. Might as well skip the annoying middle.
“Can I ask you something? About Cole?”
Her eyebrows rise with interest. “Hot Cybersecurity Guy? Of course. What’s up?”
I glance around to make sure no one is listening, since the last thing I need is to give the gossip hounds something to salivate over. “We went to dinner tonight. He said a few things that left me feeling kind of weird.”
“Like what kind of things?”
“My work schedule. When I run. Little details that felt too specific to be lucky guesses. I don’t know.
Maybe I’m being paranoid because of all the Lars Winters stuff.
” I’ve kept Rachel apprised of all the gruesome details via text.
She offered to let me stay with her after the brick incident, but I have Chewy to think about, and my dad’s insidious refrain in my head.
Strong girls don’t get scared. They just get stronger.
The brick through the window was fucking terrifying, but it doesn’t mean I’ll let Lars Winters scare me out of my own home.
Rachel’s expression grows serious, her brows furrowing. “Hailey, if your gut is telling you something is off, why aren’t you listening to it? You’ve always had great intuition.”