Gil hands his menu to the waitress, giving her a sour expression. “I’ll have the southwest chicken salad,” he says. “Hold the dressing. Water to drink.”

“What? No bacon cheeseburger?” I ask. “Lose your appetite?”

He shrugs, shaking his head. “Don’t marry a chef,” he warns me. “I’m Kendall’s Guinea pig for every menu idea he has for his catering business. Every night I come home, and he’s laid out some new, delicious spread for dinner. I barely fit in my uniform anymore. I’ve had to double my cardio in the gym and I still can’t burn it all off.”

“Tough life,” I quip, looking up at our waitress with a grin. “I’ll take the bacon pimento cheeseburger with cheese fries. Sweet tea.”

She collects our menus, promising drinks before scurrying off to her next table.

“Asshole,” Gil observes, folding his hands on the table. “The one thing Kendall does not serve is bacon cheeseburgers.”

“First world problems, my friend. First world problems.”

“Ain’t it the truth,” Gil agrees. “I guess I could have it a whole lot worse.”

“Trust me. You really could.”

Gil levels his gaze on me the way he does when he’s about to dive deep into something he knows I really don’t want to talk about but need to.

“What’s going on?” he asks. “Jack?”

I nod. “Yep.”

“Okay. Well, you’ve never exactly consulted me on your love life before, so I’m all ears. I heard about your little pissing contest with Nikki’s friend from Richmond. We all had a pretty good laugh at your expense.”

I sit back, rolling my eyes just as our waitress returns with icy cold beverages.

“The guy was a jerk,” I say, my defenses rising.

“The way I heard it, you were the jerk,” Gil replies. “And before you got there, Jack gave him no indication he was with someone else, so…” He lifts his hands, eyebrows raised with doubt. “Maybe Jack isn’t quite ready to—”

“No,” I interrupt. “It’s me.”

“What do you mean?”

I shrug, peering down at the table, at my hands, anywhere but into Gil’s steady gaze.

“I’ve been putting him off, playing games. We hang out and it’s great and then he starts to get too close, looking for more, and I… I just get scared. Then I don’t call him for three or four days. He pretty much ghosted me after Nikki’s party.”

Gil listens, taking in my confession, quietly processing it. When he finally speaks, his response is predictable.

“Dillon, take a fucking risk.” His expression is deadpan, I can’t read it.

“But what if it all blows up? What if it—”

He holds his hand up. “Shut up with the what-ifs for a second. Tell me just one thing. How do you feel? Right now, knowing he dumped you?”

“Like shit,” I reply. “It really fucking sucks.”

“It sucks because your ego is bruised? Or it sucks because you miss him and like being with him a lot better than you like being alone—or with anyone else?”

“The second one,” I admit. “My ego is off in the corner, nursing her wounds, but she’ll recover. The rest of me… I dunno.”

“You love him?” Gil asks.

This is what I both adore and despise about Gil. He doesn’t beat around the bush. He’s so direct he makes me squirm in my seat. It wasn’t the military police or being a detective that taught him to do that. He’s been this way since he was six-years-old. It can be annoying.

“I guess,” I say. “I don’t have a lot of experience with the concept, but yeah, I think so. Maybe.”

Gil leans forward, resting his elbows on the table, closing the space between us. “Then get in front of him and tell him exactly how you feel. Ask for another chance to do it right, and don’t fuck it up this time.”

“Gil, I don’t even know what to say to him. I’m a complete wuss about stuff like this.”

His turn to roll his eyes. He shakes his head at me in frustration. “‘I love you’ is an excellent place to start. ‘I’m sorry’ might be a good follow-up. Tell him you’re scared and why, and then tell him you love him again, and go from there.”

“It just seems so early for shit like that,” I reply. “We’ve only been going out—”

“No,” he interrupts again. “If you feel it, it’s real. Timing has nothing to do with it. It’s either there or it’s not. And let me clue you in on something, brother, if you don’t tell him and he goes away, you’ll regret it the rest of your life.”

Our waitress reappears, this time with a tray filled with my sizzling hot burger and fries, wafting the scent of bacon grease across our table. Gil’s salad is a lot less appealing. She places a bottle of ketchup between us, standing back with a big smile.

“Can I get you fella’s anything else right now?”

Gil shakes his head while coveting my burger from across the table. He looks sadly at his lettuce.

When she’s gone, I pick up where we left off.

“It may be too late already,” I say. “That bastard from Richmond with the hundred-dollar haircut and three-hundred-dollar Italian shoes gave Jack his card. For all I know, they’re already together.”

Gil shakes his head at me. “Not unless the guy is gardening in those Italian loafers. I saw Kathi and Jack at the garden supply this morning. I had a car pulled over in front, and Jack was hauling bags of feed, dirt, and mulch, piling ‘em into Kathi’s truck. He looked like he’d been knee-deep in pig swill since dawn. Maybe he’s working off his heartache, trying to keep busy.”

Interesting. Jack hates the farm and garden life that Kathi and Griff have built their whole world around. Maybe Gil is right.

“Listen,” Gil says. “I know what it feels like. When I met Kendall, I was scared as shit too. I was head over heels in love with him from almost the first kiss, but I didn’t have the guts to say the words because—just like you—it seemed too soon.”

He forks his salad, turning over the greens disinterestedly.

“And then shit hit the fan and his truck went in water out at Holston Lake…”

Yeah. That was the biggest drama that ever happened around Abingdon. We had a real crime ring going on right under our noses. Kendall got caught up in it because he was helping the police, and he nearly lost his life as a result.

“When I thought I’d lost him, and I hadn’t even had the guts to tell him how much he was loved and appreciated, it just shattered me. It broke me in half. Don’t make the same mistake. You never really know how much time you have. Make the most of every day. Don’t worry about the what ifs. In the long run, you’ll regret the things you didn’t do a lot more than the things you did do. Take a risk.”

* * *

I’ve never been nervous calling anyone before, but now my hands are shaking, and my mouth is dry. The phone is ringing, and I’m still not sure what I’m going to say.

When Jack picks up, the sound of his voice is like sustenance to my soul.

“Hey,” I say, lacking anything else.

“Hey,” comes a chilly reply.

I hesitate, feeling my heart pounding in my ears. Suck it up and just ask him.

“Listen, we need to talk. Face to face. It’s important. You’re important to me. Can we get together after work tonight?”

I hear a heavy sigh on the other end of the line. “Can’t. I’m on second shift. Four ‘til one.”

Shit. “Okay. How about we grab lunch tomorrow? At my place? I’ll take a few hours off, so we have enough time.”

Another heavy sigh. “Okay,” he says. “I’ve got some errands to run in the morning. I’ll pick you up at the fire station when I’m done.”

“Great,” I reply, trying to sound my usual up-beat self. “That’s great. And hey Jack, thank you. I’ll see you then. I’ve missed you.”

“I’ve missed you too,” he says, but the chill remains in his tone. I’ve scared him off and it’s going to take a miracle to salvage this thing and win him back.

Hanging up the phone I haul in a deep breath, the first since he picked up. This must be love because no one’s ever put me on tenterhooks like this before. I never cared enough to try to win someone back.

Gil’s advice better be solid, because everything is riding on lunch tomorrow.