Theodore stepped off the sidewalk and came to a stop in front of the entrance of the restaurant. It was a cold night and a chilling breeze blew over him as though urging him to get inside the warm, inviting interior of the restaurant.
He didn’t move. Instead, Theodore took a moment to gather himself and remind himself of his priorities. After a beat, he adjusted his leather jacket and checked that he still had his wallet and keys. Everything was right where he had put them not five minutes before when he stepped out of his car.
Okay. Get in there, he thought. But his legs still didn’t move, which was almost comical if he thought about it. After weeks of watching Mirabelle from afar like the creepy stalker he had become, he was finally seeing her again face to face. But instead of rushin
