“Or maybe not a stalker, but someone who is desperate to catch a glimpse of another person who has been avoiding them for years?” he suggested smoothly. “Six years this December.”

I blinked once and then twice. “What?”

That half-grin grew as he eyed me. “Or someone who just happens to be having dinner with a friend who also happens to live in the same vicinity as you?”

My cheeks started to heat.

“If I was stalking you, I’m doing a really bad job at it since I waited for you to come out of the restroom,” he continued on, obviously amused by my observation. “From what I know about stalkers, and trust me, I’ve had a few, they tend to be a little more inconspicuous.”

Anger flushed through my system. Did this amuse him—did I? Of course it did. I had always amused Brock. “I’m pretty sure most of the stalkers you’ve had in the past would’ve walked right into the men’s room instead of waiting for you outside, and you wouldn’t have had one problem with that.”

“Damn.” Brock tipped his head back and laughed. Air punched out of my lungs. God, I’d forgotten how his laugh sounded. Deep and infectious, he laughed without a care. He handed those laughs out to anyone and everyone while I thought they were just for me. A smile played at his lips. “You are not the Jillybean I remember.”

Brock using my nickname did funny things to me. Threw me back in time, to years ago, when we’d sit side by side on the old swing out in my parents’ backyard. Reminded me of how Brock would listen to me ramble on and on about all the places in the world I wanted to visit. It made me think of the way things used to be, and nothing could ever be like that again.

“No,” I told him, lifting my chin. “I’m not her.”

He dipped his head so he was suddenly in my space, his mouth nearly lined up with mine. “I know that.”

A startled gasp left me.

“I think I like this Jillian,” he said as if he were sharing some highly kept secret.

I stared at him, unable to process what that meant.

Brock’s head tilted to the side. “Who is that guy you’re with at the table?”

Jerking back, I about toppled over backward. “I . . . I can’t even believe you’re asking that question.”

His brows furrowed together. “Why? It’s a valid question.”

My eyes widened. “That is so not a valid question.”

Straightening, he leaned against the wall like he had all the time in the world and we weren’t standing outside of the restrooms. “Is he your boyfriend?”