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Finally, she walks into Heroes again.

I’m working behind the bar again. Shirt pressed. Hair damp. Fresh shave.

She doesn’t look at me. Doesn’t have to. She’s aware of me and seemingly everyone else, all at once.

I pour her white wine before she asks.

The wine meets her stool at the same moment she does. Third from the end, strategically positioned, clear sight-lines to every exit, no mirrors to betray her in the liquor cabinet’s glass.

Always thinking, this one.

“You know my order?” she asks, surprised. The first words she’d ever spoken to me directly.

“I stood and watched, did my best to remember.”

“Security, right? By the door?”

“For a few weeks, yeah. I’d rather tend bar.”

We don’t talk much after that. She seemed a little freaked out that I knew her order; in the very least, it got her attention. So much for staying in the shadows.

Once or twice, when she raised the glass to her lips, her eyes flicked to mine. Just for a second. Then she drinks.

I feel it like an earthquake in my ribs.

***

Later that night, I log on immediately when I get home. She’s there, waiting.

MoonDance77: My bartender was quiet tonight.

I damn near hyperventilate. She’s talking about me !

Fang950: Maybe he was nervous.

MoonDance77: Why?

Fang950: Maybe he felt seen.

MoonDance77: Or maybe I freak people out without meaning to.

Fang950: Maybe you made him forget how to breathe.

I don’t hit send.

I delete the message, start again.

Fang950: You don’t scare me.

MoonDance77: I scare my husband sometimes.

Fang950: If you were really dangerous, you’d be alone.

MoonDance77: You say that like you know me.

Fang950: Maybe I do.

MoonDance77: Now you sound dangerous.

She adds a smiley face.

It hurts in the best way.

MoonDance77: Sometimes I wish I could meet you in person.

Fang950: Maybe you already have.

MoonDance77: No, I’d know if I had.

I sit there, staring at that.

Because she’s wrong.

And right.

All at once.