Page 10 of Micah

Because I'm surveilling.

That's what I tell myself, anyway.

The Watering Hole's social media page loads first.

Nothing new.

Sloane posted today's lunch special three hours ago.

Smoked brisket sandwich.

Fresh-cut fries.

Homemade coleslaw.

Twenty-seven comments.

Four hundred likes.

That’s normal engagement.

I switch windows.

The Main Street feed refreshes.

And there she is.

Sloane O'Brien.

My eyes find her before I even think about looking.

That ought to bother me.

Hell, the fact I know exactly which camera she'll appear on and roughly what time she'll walk into frame ought to bother me too.

This?

This isn't normal.

I'm bordering on obsession.

Maybe worse.

If somebody looked over my shoulder right now, they'd probably call it stalking.

I'd call it making sure she's okay.

Tomato.

Tomahto.

My therapist would be having a field day with this one if I still saw the fucker—I don’t.

After I was discharged, I walked away from military life free and clear.

No real physical damage.

Just a few scars.