"What can I get ya?" I ask.

"Pecan pie and coffee."

"We're out of both."

He stares at me.

I laugh.

Where the hell did that come from? Am I flirting with him? What the hell is wrong with me? "Lame attempt at a joke. Or something," I mumble. "Not sure your girlfriend will approve, though."

"She's not my girlfriend."

"Sorry. That wasn't appropriate."

Petr is grinning, his eyes sparkling.

I leave quickly, uncertain what to say and thoroughly embarrassed by the unusual slip. I can't afford to be interested in him. He's attractive, yes, but I'm in no position to open that door. Five minutes later, I return with his pie and coffee. The old me had a good sense of humor and used to tease people. The paranoid runner I am now is supposed to be all business.

"There's a karate class tonight at six. Have you made a decision about whether or not Todd can go?" he asks.

I hesitate. My instinctive, immediate answer is negative. I haven't yet decided if that's the right one yet. Petr being here, this morning, waiting for me ...

"I haven't decided," I reply.

"Not a problem. I can come back tomorrow." He chuckles. "Want me to bring references? Someone to vouch for me?"

My face is warm. He can't understand why I'm like this, and I have no real way of explaining it. "Just eat your pie," I tell him in the tone I use with Todd.

Whirling away, I retreat to my counter.

He eats, pays and leaves without speaking to me again, though he does give me a small wave. I ignore it. I can't let anyone think I'm going soft, can't relax my guard until my ex is behind bars, which will probably take years given our court system.

I'm expecting Petr to drop it. I've been a bit of a bitch and haven't given him an answer twice now. A normal person would deem this effort too annoying to pursue and take the easier path by moving on. A man this handsome would never speak to me again.

But the next day, Petr returns.

And the next.

And the next.

On the fourth day, I even hide the pecan pie and tell him it's out for the season.

But he comes back the next day, too. Every day, he asks if Todd can go to karate, and every day, I crisply inform him I haven't made up my mind.

Petr shows up for ten days in a row. TEN. My brother has no idea this is happening, and I'm almost grateful he's got a girl to keep his mind off karate for the most part. This game between Petr and me is baffling.

I don't understand why he won't just quit. Walk away, drop it, move on, whatever. He barely knows Todd, and he's got an entire town of people to save. He must have better things to do than to ask me every day about taking my brother to karate class.

"What is wrong with you?" I ask him finally on the tenth day and all but drop his pie on the table before him. I plant both hands on my hips. "Can't you take a hint?"

"I think ten days qualifies as more than a hint," Petr says, amused. "Even this ground pounder understands."

"Then why do you keep asking?"

He shrugs. "Initially I wanted to take him to karate. Now ... it's more a matter of principle. You declared war by being stubborn, so I at least need to show up to the fight."

What is it about him that always makes me want to smile? "War, huh." I never thought of it that way, though in hindsight, there is a part of me that's wanted to drive him away. If he stopped asking, stopped showing up, I could tell Todd it wasn't a sincere offer and take the easy way out with the karate class issue. "There's no pie in war."

I take his pie away. Just to drive home my point, I eat it at the counter while Petr sips his coffee and watches, entertained.

"I'm still charging you," I call to him across the diner.

"Cheers." He raises his mug.

I lift my fork in response.

"Since I'm buying, I might consider this a first date," he adds.

He smiles under my icy glare. I don't really appreciate the joke.

I expect today to be like every other one, where he pays the check and leaves. Rather than walk out wordlessly after our exchange, he approaches the counter.

"My family throws a town-wide Thanksgiving feast every year at the community center. You and Todd are welcome to come by," he says.

The offer is friendly yet measured, as if he wants to play it off as something he reminds everyone about. The idea someone this handsome and confident might be afraid I'll say no confuses me, yet I can't think of any other reason why he seems almost nervous asking.

I'm not sure how to respond. It's not a personal invitation per se, but I can't prevent my pulse from quickening at the chance he's bringing it up.

"Just ... if you're interested." He winks and backs away from the counter. "I can guarantee we won't run out of pecan pie."

I roll my eyes and turn my back to him, waiting until I hear the jingle of the bell over the door before I face the facade of the diner. Like I have the past several days, I watch him climb onto his motorcycle parked out front, put on his helmet and drive off. I find myself wondering about his leg. If Todd never told me about him, I'd never know from how Petr walks or acts or anything.

"He's not here for the pie," Eileen observes.

I glance at her in surprise. Petr is here to ask after my brother or like he said, out of principle. I can't imagine a war hero who's a multi-millionaire at least wants anything to do with me. It's easier for me to believe the pie is laced with crack to keep him coming back.

"He's a good kid from a good family. You should go Thursday," Eileen adds. "I've gone every year. They literally feed the entire town and invite soldiers from the military base up."

"That's pretty incredible," I murmur, not quite able to believe Petr's that rich. He dresses nice, but he's ... friendly. And a war hero. The combination doesn't make sense to someone who's gotten her education about the wealthy from reality TV shows and tabloids.

"Saves money, too." Eileen lowers her voice. "We aren't paid shit here, and you can take home as much as you want from the feast."

This reasoning resonates with me. "We'll see," I respond. "I don't mind working holidays."

"I do. We're closed Thursday anyway." The plump woman leaves me to tend to one of the regulars.

I watch her go, debating what to do about the Thanksgiving party.

Too many decisions send me spiraling into near-panic mode. Karate and Thanksgiving.

Maybe I'm not cut out to be normal after all.

Chapter Six: Petr.

I'm not accustomed to dealing with to people I can't figure out. I've always been a quick judge of character without my sister's emotional edge or Mikael's eagerness to make friends that made him miss obvious warning signs.

I can't quite understand Claudia, though, and it's bugging me more and more. There's no doubt I'm attracted to her, but there are a lot of pretty girls in town. None of them intrigue me. I'm torn between wanting to take her cold shoulder as a hint and asking her for a cup of coffee to see if I can identify what it is about her that tugs at me.

By the time I reach the community center to go over preparations for Thursday, my phone has two texts from Brianna.

Seeing her name on my screen reminds me of how I vet my friends but not my girlfriends. I guess I have a soft spot for women. Or maybe my sister's moodiness and mother's quick temper have made me much more tolerant of behavior I wouldn't otherwise invite into my life.

It's moments like these when I remember that Brianna was sleeping with Mikael and me both at some point several years ago. Anger sparks within me.

Why am I torturing myself by trying to make something with her work out?

Because no one else wants you.

I imagine Hulk-smashing the disgusting thought. It's not healthy. Yet if some part of me didn't believe it, I'd ask Claudia out instead of trying to safely unravel her personality from our daily, two-minute interactions.

I set down my helmet on my bike's seat.

"Hey, Petr!" says Beverly, the director of the community center, a woman twice my age with the energy level of a five year old. "You will love what we're doing this year!"

"I'm sure I will," I say, smiling.

She motions me in. The moment I set foot in the massive auditorium-slash-gym that will be the center of the feast, she starts talking and gesticulating wildly with her hands. She can see the place set up already in her mind, even if I can't quite imagine it. I follow her from empty space to empty space while she describes what'll be there in three days.

"... chocolate turkey!" she exclaims and looks up at me, eyes glowing. "I'm glad we only ordered one. Isn't that amazing it turned out?"

She doesn't wait for an answer but starts talking about the food arrangements. I'm here mainly to make sure she doesn't need more money or people, a job that Katya performed up until moving in with her husband this past summer. I listen to Bev without really understanding what part of her excited rush of words I need to remember and what part is simply informational fluff.

Civilian communications don't always contain information of value, and their priorities are almost foreign to me. I'm patient and quiet and don't interrupt her.

"... and that's why the pie tower has to go in the corner." She finishes and gazes at me expectantly.

"Sounds like you have everything under control," I say and look around at the wide space.

"You don't think that's a problem?"

"Putting the pies in the corner?"

She nods.

"As long as there's a logical flow to everything. You can't have people jamming up the process of getting food, eating or exiting to the latrines."

By her puzzled expression, it's not the answer she expects.

"Look, Bev," I say. "You know what you're doing. I have no idea how to help, unless you need more money. In that case, I'm useful to you. Otherwise, I'll just get in the way. Why not call me if you run into a problem that needs to be elevated, and I promise to fix it?"

"You're very different than Katya," she replies. "Katya would have a meltdown if I told her about the pie tower."

"I trust you," I say and rest both hands on her narrow shoulders. "You can put the pies wherever you want."

She brightens once more. "I have to show you the decorations!" She moves away towards a hallway leading to a storage room.

I trail, even less interested in decorations than I am pie towers. I know what this celebration means to the town and my family, so I do my best to chime in when prompted.

Two hours later, I head to my doctor's for a quick pre-holiday checkup and return home. There's another text waiting for me, and I pause to read it, not recognizing the number.

Claud bought me a phone. PLEASE don't tell her I texted you. I'm going to ask her again about karate. (Todd) Either his sis really doesn't want anything to do with me, or she has something against letting Todd learn karate. The sense of puzzlement that's followed me around since I met her returns. I can't imagine it's me.

Unless it's the leg.

I hate this sickening sense of insecurity. The man I was before wouldn't have felt it, and I can't shake it. I send Todd a quick response.

Got it. If you need anything, let me know.

I tap send and then read over Brianna's texts again. She's asking me to go as her date to the Thanksgiving feast Thursday.

I'll be there anyway. Theoretically, there's no harm in saying yes.

Except that I'd be perpetuating the cycle of insecurity.

Let's go as friends, I respond then sigh. I can't just say no, and I need to.

I have the urge to talk to family and dial my sister as I walk into the house. She answers on the first ring.

"Are you dying?" Katya demands.

I laugh. "No. Haven't talked to you in a while."

"A week, Petr."

"I keep forgetting Sawyer's out of town." A twinge of envy slides through me. He's the commander of my old team, and the entire spec-ops team is overseas for a mission. I'd give almost anything to be with them. God, do I miss those days!

"Yeah," she sounds glum. "You coming to visit me?"

"Not this week. I have to talk to Bev about pie towers and shit."

"Ooohhh. I almost forgot it's Thanksgiving this week! Just tell her not to put them in the corner like she tried to last year."