God, I hate this about Atlanta. Too many people here are like her, tetchy and forever in a hurry. Zero patience and not seeming to care that other people have shit to do, too. The city wasn’t always like this. Well, maybe it was? I wasn’t always like this, though. Or maybe I was? But things and people change. I have. He probably has. I look around the shop again and watch the door for a few seconds. If he doesn’t arrive soon, I’m going to end up talking myself out of this whole meetup. I used to love this city, especially downtown. The dining scene is full of small, privately owned restaurants, not just chains, with actual chefs who create dishes that I’ve never even heard of but love. There’s always something to do in Atlanta and everything is open later than it is around Fort Benning. The exception, of course, being the strip club—there’s always at least one outside every military base. But the biggest draw to Atlanta for me back then was that I wasn’t constantly reminded of military life. No camo everywhere you look. No ACUs on the men and women waiting in line for the movies, at the gas station, at Dunkin’ Donuts. People speak real words, not just acronyms. And there are plenty of non-military haircuts to admire.

I loved Atlanta, but he ruined that.

We ruined that.

We.

That was the closest I’d get to admitting any fault in what went down.

“What are you staring at?”

Just a few words, but they pour into and over me, shocking every one of my senses and all of my sense. And yet, there’s that calm, too, that seems to be hardwired into me whenever he’s around. I look up to make sure it’s him, though I know it is. Sure enough, he’s standing over me with his hickory eyes on my face, searching . . . reminiscing? I wish he wouldn’t look at me like that. The small café is actually pretty packed, but I hardly notice. I’d had this meeting all scripted, and now, with five words, he’s disrupted everything and I’m unnerved.

“How do you do that?” I ask him. “I didn’t see you come in.”

I worry that my voice sounds like I’m accusing him of something or that I’m nervous, and that’s the last thing I want. I need to be cool and make it clear that he doesn’t have the power to get to me, not anymore. But still, I wonder—how does he do that, really? He was always so good at silence, at moving around undetected. Another skill honed in the Army, I guess.